Post by Al David on Jun 24, 2018 21:54:32 GMT
Those eyes. Empty, like voids. Blank. His mother’s eyes were full of love. They were blue as the sky, comforting as a comic book. Those weren’t his mother’s eyes. They belonged to something else, something worse—a dead woman. The void stared back at him, the blackness devouring her irises.
Iris West’s eyes trailed across the screen until they crossed the last period. How to end the biography of the man she loved? ‘He lived happily ever after’? Barry would like that. He was a softie, a sucker for feel-good narratives, but Iris…? This was her book as much as his, and she was a reporter. She demanded the truth.
The truth? Barry didn’t care about the truth. Not now. No, no, his life was hard enough, being a cripple was bad enough. That couldn’t be…that wasn’t his mother. That was his truth.
Then why had he picked up the phone; why had he dialed those three digits? Knocking at the door.
Someone knocked on the front door. How old-fashioned. For a moment, Iris expected one of the twins to rush it, to assault their guest with a flurry of greetings and questions.
But they were at school. Iris had the house to herself. So, she got up and answered the door.
Barry opened the front door. A police officer stood there, tall, pale, imposing, like death in the flesh. He didn’t recognize the man. Wasn’t anyone his father had introduced him to.
“Barry Allen,” the man cooed. Without looking inside, he said, “Your mother is dead. This is just the beginning.”
Everything went black. When he next came to, Barry was in his father’s arms, sobbing.
The officers at the door were both crying. She didn’t recognize them, but they were crying. The world spun around Iris, the entryway morphing into a funhouse inversion of itself. She steadied herself against the door. So it was today. She didn’t think it would be so soon.
“Iris West?” one of the men said. She nodded. “Your husband is dead. I’m so, so sorry.”
Barry had warned her…but she hadn’t thought it would be so soon.
The Flash
#20: Legacy of Barry Allen Part 1
“Fast Enough”
I wasn’t fast enough, Barry thought, I couldn’t get to Axel on time, but maybe, just maybe…
He grabbed Axel’s remaining arm, and felt a spark of electricity pass between them. Speed force energy enveloped the unconscious teenager as Barry began to vibrate, faster, faster…
…I can still save his life.
“RrrraaaAAAHHHHHH!!!!” He screamed.
His molecules shook as they never had before, sending out bolts of energy in every direction. Daniel and Chester stepped back, wary of the sudden outburst. Barry’s body felt like it was going to tear apart, to shred on an atomic level, but he kept going. Maybe if he vibrated fast enough, he could cross dimensions, just like he could travel through time. Maybe he could save Axel. He had to. No one else would die because he was too slow.
His screams became an echoing monstrosity, pitched like the voice of a god. Bolts crackled against the mirror gates, and reflected off them. The whole dimension took on a yellowed tint.
Panicked, Chester cried, “Barry! You have to slow down. You’re going to die!!”
Daniel snorted, “We all will.”
Barry kept moving, kept vibrating, and the very fabric of the mirror dimension began to tear. The gates cracked. The yellowing atmosphere hummed with power. The Fastest Man Alive began to glow, his eyes and mouth roaring with energy.
“Barry—” Chester screamed.
“Stay back,” Daniel warned. Then, without another word, he sprinted toward Barry. Speed force energy struck him, and his body started to vibrate as well. Nonetheless, he continued forward, ignoring Chester’s cries, ignoring everything except what would happen if he let this hero lose control.
Daniel tackled Barry, and it was over in an instant. The speed conduit slowed, but gave off one last burst of energy, sending Daniel flying. The whole world steadied. Barry watched his fellow officer soar through nothingness with glazed eyes.
So he ran.
Barry sped over to Daniel, then used mirror gates as springboards to hop up, until in mid-air he could contort his body to catch him. The two tumbled to a halt, Barry using his body to cushion his friend’s fall. When he sat up, he found Daniel unconscious, unmoving. He checked his pulse.
Daniel was alive.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Barry gave Chester a thumbs up. The techie just blanched.
“No bueno, dude,” he muttered, “Not cool at all.”
That just left Axel. The young Rogue lay on the esoteric floors of the mirror dimension, wheezing. He wasn’t gone, not yet, but at this rate…
I won’t let him die.
…
I wasn’t fast enough, Thaddeus grimaced. I missed the Flash. Fragging timesphere’s too fragging difficult to control. No wonder you’re supposed to get a license.
The young time traveler sat on the edge of a rooftop, looking out over Central City at night. How small it looked. How open. Was this really what 21st century-ers considered a city? No wonder the Flash got so famous so quickly. It was practically a small town.
Thaddeus looked at his analog watch. He was a fan of old school things: the Beatles, paper books, flying cars. The watch was no different, a relic from a certain Golden Age speedster…
It was 8:42 pm. How long would he have to wait for the Flash to return? Hm. Maybe he could go save him. Maybe that was how the Flash returned (time was weird like that). Maybe he should beat the Rogues…or just screw around and fight crime.
“Frag it.” He lay back down, smushing his messy black hair against the pavement. Calling back to his timesphere, he said, “Gideon, are there any crimes-in-progress?”
“I…bloop en…goppulchuck spidermunz,” replied the ship.
Thaddeus groaned. That was the other problem with timespheres. The Speed Force almost always short circuited them on any given trip. Took days to recover. Hundreds of years of development, and still the ol’ cosmic treadmill was the way to go.
“Guess I’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” Thaddeus pulled on his green cowl, and hopped up onto his feet. He flicked his wrist, activating the device attached to it. A small pill shot out, and he caught it in his mouth. After swallowing, he said, “3x2(9yz)4a.”
Suddenly, his body coursed with superhuman energy, vermillion lightning crackling across his skintight supersuit. He took off, speeding this way and that, down every alley that caught his attention. Within minutes, he’d found a mugging. Thaddeus took care of it, no problem, knocking the mugger out with one punch.
Sirens rang out.
“Ooh, car chase,” Thaddeus noted. He looked at the mugging victim, shot her a grin, then said, “Gotta run.”
He sped off in pursuit of the high speed chase. However, before he could reach it, the escaping sports car lurched to a halt in a field of azure energy. Something, or someone, sped around the vehicles while the cops slammed on their breaks. The newcomer speedster dropped off the criminals, then ran off without a word.
Thaddeus skidded to a stop. The cops exited their vehicles, then looked between him and the restrained criminals.
“The Flash? But I thought…” The cop shrugged. “Good job, kid.”
“I’m not…I didn’t…” Thaddeus cocked his head. “Um, bye.”
And with those final words, he sped away. As he zigged and zagged across Central City, his thoughts lingered on what had just happened.
Soooo….weird. There was another speedster, a good guy. Kids Lantern and Flash won’t be around for another few years, and the golden oldies are in retirement. But what if the timeline’s already changed? What if I changed it? That’s the goal, right, but what if... Thaddeus grimaced. What if I went too far? If Kid Flash is already operating then who knows what else has changed, or will. I can’t trust the logs, not if we’ve jumped ‘lines.
He had to forget crime fighting for now. Another speedster was taking care of it in the Flash’s place, anyway. Thaddeus needed to think bigger—multiversal big. He needed to get to the bottom of what was going on.
He needed to play Batman.
…
This was rapidly becoming one of the worst days of Iris’ life. Florez had ordered her to follow up on her Rogues piece by interviewing Len—her lying, conniving, convict ex-boyfriend. That was the last thread she wanted to tug on. For all the catharsis she thought she’d get by roasting him in a viral article, she couldn’t make it through a single date in the weeks since his “outing.” Hell, she couldn’t even keep up a freaking Tinder profile because behind every glossy, filtered photo she saw a criminal. With every sensual touch, she felt a hand around her throat and a gun pressed to her temple.
Then Wally ran away. She called her dad, she called Danny (who didn’t answer), and she went looking for him herself. No luck. So, while the CCPD scrambled to find him, she tried to get her mind off it by working, by calling Iron Heights, only to find out Len had been released. Why? No one would say.
It would make a great article if she wasn’t so goddamn worried. What if Len found Wally? What if he hurt him?
The text message made everything worse. Found your car. Wally isn’t in it.
Iris stood up from the couch, biting back tears. She typed back a quick meet you at precinct to her dad, then stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Her eyes trailed to the TV, to the nonstop local reporting of the Rogues’ message. The Flash could find Wally…but he was gone, too. Barry was gone. God, she still couldn’t believe it. Sweet, mild-mannered Barry Allen was the Flash. And he was gone. The whole world had shit the bed at once.
She’d lost her mother, her brother, her bitch of a sister-in-law. She wasn’t about to lose Wally, too. If Len had him, that son of a bitch would pay.
For everything.
Knocking at her door. For a moment, Iris expected one of the twins to rush it, to assault their guest with a flurry of greetings and questions. She stumbled, overcome with a wave of nausea. What was that? Twins, what twins?
She gathered herself, then answered the door. The officers at the door were both crying. She didn’t recognize them, but they were crying. Iris held herself up against the knob, blinking. The man—rather, the boy, maybe eighteen at the oldest—in her doorway wasn’t crying. In fact, he looked excited, a bit jittery, bouncing between his feet, fiddling with his thumbs. He had a bird’s nest of black hair, and brown eyes like, well…they looked like her dad’s.
“Iris West,” he said, grinning chalk-white. “My name’s Thaddeus…Wayne. Thaddeus Wayne.”
Iris knew a fake name when she heard one. This kid couldn’t lie worth a damn.
“I’m sorry. Can you cut to the chase? I don’t have long. Family emergency,” she said.
“It would be my honor to walk you to your car,” he offered.
Iris considered for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. But, uh…I don’t have my car. With me. My nephew took it.”
“Oh, that’s the emergency, isn’t it? Your…your nephew’s pretty reckless, huh?” Thaddeus blanched, leading the way. “Um, how old is he? Not old enough to drive, right?”
“Yep,” Iris admitted. The boy seemed to relax. What an odd reaction. “So what are you here for? Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you,” Thaddeus blurted. He blushed, then rambled, “Not in a creepy way. Just—I’m a big fan. Big, big fan. Of your reporting. First article on the Flash? Wow.”
So that’s what this was. A Flash fanboy. Someone trying to meet their “hero.” He wasn’t the first person like this that Iris had to deal with. Allowing him to open the door to the stairwell for her, she said, “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Flash is—”
“Gone. For now,” Thaddeus said, “He’ll be back. And yeah, he’s why I’m here. Sort of. I was just wondering if you, um…if anything’s been weird lately. Off.”
“Your husband is dead. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Weird in what way?” Iris asked, her mind fogging.
“Oh, you know, hallucinations, voices in your head—”
“What are you trying to sell? Counselling? Meds?” she grunted. The cops…she didn’t know those cops. She didn’t have a husband. Was this kid putting those images, those thoughts into her head?
“I’m just here to help. Seriously, big fan. Trying to…fix things. Steer the world in a slightly new direction,” Thaddeus said.
“I’m not a religious person,” Iris retorted. She forced open the exit, the world beginning to spin around her.
“Are you okay?”
The boy’s voice seemed distant. The ones in her head were right in front of her.
“Ma’am, your husband was a hero. If there’s anything you ever need…”
What about the twins? What am I going to say? Screw you, Barry Allen. Screw you for just leaving us like this. Why couldn’t you just run away?? Run away like
WALLY
Iris was lying on the ground. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there, but the voices were gone; her vision was clear. Thaddeus was…vibrating?
“AreyouokayshouldItakeyoutothehospital?” he blurred.
Iris stood, and dry-heaved twice. The boy reached for her, but she waved him off. When she straightened again, he was standing still. The vibrating…just a trick of her eyes, right? Regardless, she wanted away from him. If he was doing this…
“Leave me alone,” Iris said, “I…my nephew is missing.”
“What?” Thaddeus exclaimed. So he wasn’t involved. The kid couldn’t fake that astonishment.
“Just go,” Iris spat.
The boy stared at her, brown eyes wide like a kicked puppy's, as a few solemn seconds passed. Then he walked away. No superspeed, no powers. He was a normal, awkward kid. Iris was the off one.
She was going insane.
…
Henry Allen was his own worst enemy. He could blame it on his shoddy upbringing, but truth be told he had plenty of time to grow and learn. And he did…just not fast enough.
He’d run away and gotten in with the wrong crowd on his search for meaning and love. Those demons came back to haunt him, literally. He was possessed, he murdered, and confessed to said murders. And then denied it, not for his sake, but his son’s. To help him, to teach him to be better. Henry went to trial, and was managing it well enough. He could do this, if only for Barry. He owed Nora that much.
But Barry was gone. Henry wanted to, had to believe he was still alive, but he’d never been much of an optimist. Barry had gotten that side of him from his mother. Henry was a cynic, worn down by his own sins and those of others, much as he fought it.
So, when he heard the news, his mind went blank. Sitting in the middle of the courtroom, in front of a room full of reporters, before cameras, Henry had blurted, “I’m guilty.”
Again.
His attorney looked at him, dazed, shocked, “Excuse me? Henry, I know you’re under duress, but—”
“I’m guilty!” Henry shouted. He looked up at the jury. “I killed my wife. I killed old friends. And now I killed my son.”
“This is, excuse me, he’s in a bad state of mind,” his attorney said, “We need to postpone—”
“Objection!” yelled Carmine, the district attorney. The aged man rose to his feet, continuing, “Like father, like son. Criminals, the both of them. One’s death is no reason to postpone today’s hearing. In fact, with your permission, your honor, I’d like to put the nail in Mr. Allen’s coffin, so to speak. New evidence has come to light.”
All eyes fell to the attorney.
Henry frowned. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“The new witness I told you about,” the attorney said, “It’s nothing. Couldn’t find anything on him. He’s a dead end.”
Henry had lost track of all the witnesses. Anyone he didn’t know well slipped into a whirlpool of information that circled his mind, but didn’t penetrate it. He had no idea what to expect.
The judge offered the defense a curious look, then said, “The defense is overruled.”
Unsurprising, Henry thought, given what I’m charged with.
“Cruel son of a…” his attorney growled.
“Permission granted, Carmine,” the judge continued, “We’ve already approved your witnesses.”
The prosecutor grinned. “Then I’d like to call Jamie Missichkone to the floor.”
Abruptly, a gray-skinned man in a suit rose up from a few rows behind Henry and walked to the stand. The crowd gasped. Henry’s eyes widened. This man looked dead… why was he so familiar? After he swore his oaths, the DA continued.
“Mr. Missichkone, would you please tell the jury what you told me yesterday,” Carmine requested.
Jamie’s mouth opened. For a moment, Henry expected naught but silence. Then a wheezing breath oozed out, and his heart sank.
“Three years ago, Henry Allen murdered me,” his voice came out like nails on glass, ghoulish. Three years ago?? That was before Henry was possessed, and after he’d left the cult.
Jamie continued, “I served the Central City Police Department for almost five years, and led a raid on the headquarters of the Children of the Lightning, the cult Henry Allen served as a killer.” The defendant resisted the urge to yell. That’s where he recognized him. He was the victim…
“During that raid, he shot me twice in the chest.” Henry shook his head. That was a lie. He hadn’t been part of that raid. “I flat lined in the hospital. I died there, but…” It seemed difficult for him to speak. Not emotionally, but…structurally.
Then came the next bomb, “I was revived by Harrison Wells.”
A commotion erupted behind Henry. He squirmed in his seat. Something was very wrong here. The judge ordered the crowd to quiet, before motioning for the witness to continue.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth,” Jamie said, his voice steady, “In a world of superhumans, do you really doubt it? He kept me as a test subject, his little Frankenstein’s secret for years. I only recently escaped him, and when I heard what was going on here…” He coughed. “I haven’t seen my little brother in three years. Three. Years.”
There was something about the way he spoke, the cold tone in his voice, that made him seem insincere, and yet the jury seemed invested in his story. They seemed to believe him.
“Dr. Wells has been missing for weeks now,” the judge pushed.
“Because I killed him,” Jamie said. “To escape.”
Whispers tiptoed about the crowd. Henry was at a loss. What the hell was going on?
The judge looked to Carmine. “Can you provide further evidence for these claims?”
“Of course. My people are gathering it as we speak,” the DA gleamed, “And Mr. Missichkone has already agreed to work with the police. This is a…unique situation, but I fully expect the jury will come to understand it as I have.” He looked over at Henry. “Like father, like son.”
“We can beat this, Henry,” his attorney said, lying through his teeth, “With all this new information, they’re legally required to give us time to prepare. I just need no more outbursts from you. Maybe we’ll have to plead insanity, but we won’t let you…” He grimly trailed off.
They wouldn’t let him get the death penalty. They wouldn’t let him die. Ha.
Like father, like son.
…
Iris thanked the Uber driver, then ran into the police department. A part of her wanted to walk in normally, to preserve her dignity, but the violent anxiety choking her forced her legs into a sprint. The receptionist muttered greetings, but she kept moving. Past the front offices to the bullpen—
Where she nearly trucked her dad.
“Whoa, slow down, baby,” Joe said, holding her steady.
“Any news?” Iris asked. She swatted at the sweat on her forehead.
“Are you…of course you’re not okay, but take a deep breath,” Joe said. “Come on. Let’s get you seated.”
Every pair of eyes in the bullpen followed them as they walked to her father’s office. She didn’t care. Her mind was fixed elsewhere, on Wally, on Danny. Where was he? Out on the streets, looking for Wally?
As her father shut the door after her, he began, “We still have no idea where Wally is.”
“Is Daniel on this? Do you have people on this?”
Joe took a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes with shaking hands. For the first time since her arrival, Iris recognized the depth of his exhaustion and pain, the sheer willpower it took to keep himself in control in front of his colleagues. “It’s believed Daniel was…” He sighed, more grieved than exasperated, “…was with the Flash in the warehouse that…imploded. The Rogues didn’t report on it, but we found his cruiser there, abandoned.”
The great weight deepened, threatening to crush Iris. She sunk back in her seat, unable to process the news. “He’s…gone.”
Joe nodded, blinking back tears. “With everything going on, even with all the strings I pulled, I could only get two detectives on Wally’s case. Their one lead is a witness who saw a flash of light in your car. That’s it. We’re…I don’t know.” His voice cracked, “I don’t know what to do, baby. I don’t know what to do.”
Iris took his hand and squeezed it tight. A terrible silence passed over them. Something, some wall broke in her mind.
Knocking at the door.
“I’m so, so sorry,” the officer said, “Ma’am, your [nephew/brother/husband] was a hero…”
“Excuse me,” came a feminine voice. Iris’ tear-drowned eyes could barely make out a blonde bob. “I know this is a bad time, but we…we think we know the whereabouts of the Rogues. SWAT wants permission to—”
A flash of blue lightning. Screaming. The sounds of guns being cocked.
Iris wiped at her tears. There was someone else in the doorway, someone besides the woman. Tall, eyes like sockets of blue light, armored in a sleek metal suit, the man looked like a god.
Or a demon.
His metal mask slid from his head like mercury as his deep voice-in-a-voice echoed, “My name is Max Mercury. I need your help to save Barry Allen—to save the future.”
…
The cool night air whipped at James’ face, blasted by the stealthcraft’s engines. Shivering, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the ground…one thousand feet below. The others didn’t really seem to care that they were about to parachute to their deaths.
“HahahahahaHAHAHAHA!” Mick laughed like a madman, fingering his heat gun. “This is gonna be fun!”
Ever the level-headed one, Len casually slipped on his goggles and said, “Volume levels down, Mick. It’s show time.”
They were all dressed in black and gray DEO uniforms, about to put the jump back in jumpsuit. Their supervisors watched from the cockpit of the aircraft. Agent Samson, the group’s resident dirty grandma, gave them a once-over, and clucked her tongue approvingly. Agent Kim—captain of the Fun-Sized Club—rolled her eyes, biting down on the cig in her mouth.
“Keep it in your pants, Carlotta,” she said, then addressed the DEOgues, “Remember, bring Scudder and Mardon in alive. Do your job, keep this clean, and we won’t have to call in the National Guard. Or throw your asses back in jail. You ready for this?”
“No.” “Yes.”
Len and Mick looked at Sam, the latter far more amused than the former. Hot and cold, as always, just now on a whole ‘nother b-movie on-the-nose level. Mick patted him on the back, chuckling.
“Missed your smart mouth, brother,” he said.
James rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” He tightened his utility belt. “For Axel.”
“For Axel,” the others chimed.
Mick leaped out before anyone could stop him. Len sighed, holstered his cold gun, then faced James as he leaned out of the aircraft.
“See you on the other side,” he said, then fell.
James shook his head, muttering, “Not funny.”
He stepped to the edge, and looked down again. That was a mistake. His heart beat like thunder; his hands shook. Before he could back up, however, someone shoved him from behind. As he plummeted toward the ground, screaming, Agent Kim flipped him the bird from the open hatch.
He rolled at high speeds, out of control, his worst nightmare. Axel was the daredevil, not him. He’d always been acrobatic, but liked to keep things simple. Short tricks, big rewards. Not freaking skydiving!
In the blink of an eye, Len was at his side, falling steadily. “Don’t pull your ‘chute. I’ll give you the signal.”
“You—ever—done—this—before?” James said between flips. No response. “Fan—freaking—tastic!”
James used all his willpower to resist screaming again. First off, it hurt; the wind tore at the back of his throat. Moreover, he had to keep it together, had to be competent for Axel. For what could, no, what should have been, if only James had been better. Not a hero—he’d never be a hero—but a decent person.
“NOW!”
Len’s order caught James off guard. His mental monologue distracted him, but he managed to swallow his anxiety and pull his parachute on time. He floated toward the ground, toward their target: Len’s father’s house. The OG Rogues base.
Mick was still falling. What the hell?
“Stupid…” Len grumbled. He called to James, “Thanks for being reliable.”
James replied with two thumbs up, then asked, “Should we worry about him?”
Mick finally pulled his ‘chute, but it was too little too late. Though slowed, he smacked onto the roof with a sickening crunch. James landed seconds later, more gracefully than he expected. To his relief, Mick stood up, emerging from beneath his parachute.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he grunted. “Just a sprained ankle.”
“There goes the element of surprise,” Len mumbled, unlatching his parachute, eyes drawn to the ground.
“You’re not raccoons.”
The insipid comment came from a man standing on the front lawn, having just emerged from the house. Mark Mardon eyed them with more confusion than anything. He rubbed at his eyes. Report said he was schizo. Did he think he was imagining them?
Len drew and fired like an old Hollywood gunslinger. Mark reacted with surprising speed, dodgerolling out of the way of his cold blast. When he came up onto his feet, he had his weather wand in hand.
“You’re real, ain’cha,” he grunted, waving the high-tech weapon.
Suddenly, an enormous wind overcame the DEOgues. Len and Mick hit the deck, while James stumbled back, pulled by his still-attached parachute.
“Wait, wait, wait—” He tried to unlatch it, but was too slow. The ‘chute dragged him into the sky before he managed to undo it. He crashed in the flat stretch of grass that made up the backyard. When he looked up, he came eye-to-eye with Sam Scudder, who stared dumbly out at him from the kitchen window.
A hail of bullets accompanied a rainstorm. James threw himself behind the cover of a brick wall as Sam fired his pistol on repeat, shattering windows. Time to use his little toys. As the back door creaked open, James produced a small iron ball from his utility belt and rolled it toward the entrance. The second Sam stepped out, gun at the ready, the ball jerked into the air and invaded the pistol’s muzzle. When he fired, it exploded in his hand. James smirked, drawing his own sidearm as his onetime partner cursed over his burned—remaining—hand. Dossier hadn’t said shit about losing a limb. The hell?
“Always thought you were a cocky prick,” James began, rounding Sam. “You think you’re so smart. Well guess what?”
Sam disappeared in a flash of light.
James blinked twice. “Son of a b—”
Another flash of light, and Sam shot out of a piece of glass to slug him. He disappeared again before James could react. Flash again, but this time James dodged it. Still, Sam got away. Explosions sounded from the front of the house, followed by thunderclaps. Mardon was the powerhouse; the others needed backup. James had to make this quick.
“You got a kid killed,” James goaded, “Do you even feel bad about that?”
“Every damn second of every damn hour since,” echoed Sam’s voice, distorted as if through water. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you kill me.”
“We’re not here to kill you,” James retorted. “We’re with the DEO, here to put you behind bars for life.”
“You sold out? Huh,” Sam continued, “Arresting me won’t stop shit.”
“Yeah, I kinda doubt that,” James said, taking the opportunity to consider which of his gadgets would be best for the takedown. The flashbang? No, he’d jump back into the glass in time. Maybe a good ol’ fashioned handcuff, if James could react quick enough. “Sammy boy, come on out and play.”
“I want to make a deal with you,” Sam said, standing right behind James, who whirled around, gun at the ready. This time, he didn’t retreat. Sam’s eyes were full of tears, his lone hand gripping the bandaged remains of his other as James pressed the muzzle to his chest.
“You ain’t getting shit. Not after Axel,” James spat. The tears only made him madder. Screw his orders; he could take the shot.
“Your bosses’ll want to hear this. Info on the guy who took my hand, the son of a bitch who’s really behind my…behind the Rogues,” Sam said, practically pleading. “All I want is in on your deal. All I want is revenge.”
“Screw. You,” James growled, raising his pistol to Sam’s forehead.
“Do not fire,” came Kim’s voice through his earpiece. “I repeat, do not fire. Have him clarify.”
James grimaced, his finger tightened around the trigger. Sam stared back defiantly. He could do it. He could really…
“If you kill him, you’ll disappear. Never see the light of day again,” Kim warned.
James tensed…then lowered his gun. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Sam released a sigh, his lips curling into a half-hearted smile. Cradling his stump, he looked almost pitiful. “Guy’s been behind everything. The Children, Savitar, now us. Wants to ruin the Flash’s life. Wants to become the Fastest Man Alive.”
“Sounds like a load of convoluted BS,” James grunted. “And the Flash is dead.”
“Not yet he ain’t. He’s…locked away,” Sam said.
“What?” both James and Kim blurted simultaneously.
“Forget the Flash. We got to get out of here before this guy gets back. He’s a psychopath. Full blown nutjob supervillain-type. Claims to be from the future, crazy as it sounds,” Sam said. “Has the weirdest name—”
A storm of crimson lightning swallowed them. James felt one punch, then another, knocking him to the ground. He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to a gray-skinned man had his hands wrapped around both his and Sam’s throats, holding them out like dolls. Standing to the side, hands locked behind his back, was an old man. Not just any old guy, but the district attorney—the shithead who put the Rogues away in the first place!
“Not fast enough, Sam, though I appreciate the effort.” Carmine’s voice came out uncanny, cold, like ice bloodied with madness. His mouth twisted into a demon’s grin. “You’ve made a very big mistake.”
Iris West’s eyes trailed across the screen until they crossed the last period. How to end the biography of the man she loved? ‘He lived happily ever after’? Barry would like that. He was a softie, a sucker for feel-good narratives, but Iris…? This was her book as much as his, and she was a reporter. She demanded the truth.
The truth? Barry didn’t care about the truth. Not now. No, no, his life was hard enough, being a cripple was bad enough. That couldn’t be…that wasn’t his mother. That was his truth.
Then why had he picked up the phone; why had he dialed those three digits? Knocking at the door.
Someone knocked on the front door. How old-fashioned. For a moment, Iris expected one of the twins to rush it, to assault their guest with a flurry of greetings and questions.
But they were at school. Iris had the house to herself. So, she got up and answered the door.
Barry opened the front door. A police officer stood there, tall, pale, imposing, like death in the flesh. He didn’t recognize the man. Wasn’t anyone his father had introduced him to.
“Barry Allen,” the man cooed. Without looking inside, he said, “Your mother is dead. This is just the beginning.”
Everything went black. When he next came to, Barry was in his father’s arms, sobbing.
The officers at the door were both crying. She didn’t recognize them, but they were crying. The world spun around Iris, the entryway morphing into a funhouse inversion of itself. She steadied herself against the door. So it was today. She didn’t think it would be so soon.
“Iris West?” one of the men said. She nodded. “Your husband is dead. I’m so, so sorry.”
Barry had warned her…but she hadn’t thought it would be so soon.
The Flash
#20: Legacy of Barry Allen Part 1
“Fast Enough”
I wasn’t fast enough, Barry thought, I couldn’t get to Axel on time, but maybe, just maybe…
He grabbed Axel’s remaining arm, and felt a spark of electricity pass between them. Speed force energy enveloped the unconscious teenager as Barry began to vibrate, faster, faster…
…I can still save his life.
“RrrraaaAAAHHHHHH!!!!” He screamed.
His molecules shook as they never had before, sending out bolts of energy in every direction. Daniel and Chester stepped back, wary of the sudden outburst. Barry’s body felt like it was going to tear apart, to shred on an atomic level, but he kept going. Maybe if he vibrated fast enough, he could cross dimensions, just like he could travel through time. Maybe he could save Axel. He had to. No one else would die because he was too slow.
His screams became an echoing monstrosity, pitched like the voice of a god. Bolts crackled against the mirror gates, and reflected off them. The whole dimension took on a yellowed tint.
Panicked, Chester cried, “Barry! You have to slow down. You’re going to die!!”
Daniel snorted, “We all will.”
Barry kept moving, kept vibrating, and the very fabric of the mirror dimension began to tear. The gates cracked. The yellowing atmosphere hummed with power. The Fastest Man Alive began to glow, his eyes and mouth roaring with energy.
“Barry—” Chester screamed.
“Stay back,” Daniel warned. Then, without another word, he sprinted toward Barry. Speed force energy struck him, and his body started to vibrate as well. Nonetheless, he continued forward, ignoring Chester’s cries, ignoring everything except what would happen if he let this hero lose control.
Daniel tackled Barry, and it was over in an instant. The speed conduit slowed, but gave off one last burst of energy, sending Daniel flying. The whole world steadied. Barry watched his fellow officer soar through nothingness with glazed eyes.
So he ran.
Barry sped over to Daniel, then used mirror gates as springboards to hop up, until in mid-air he could contort his body to catch him. The two tumbled to a halt, Barry using his body to cushion his friend’s fall. When he sat up, he found Daniel unconscious, unmoving. He checked his pulse.
Daniel was alive.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Barry gave Chester a thumbs up. The techie just blanched.
“No bueno, dude,” he muttered, “Not cool at all.”
That just left Axel. The young Rogue lay on the esoteric floors of the mirror dimension, wheezing. He wasn’t gone, not yet, but at this rate…
I won’t let him die.
…
I wasn’t fast enough, Thaddeus grimaced. I missed the Flash. Fragging timesphere’s too fragging difficult to control. No wonder you’re supposed to get a license.
The young time traveler sat on the edge of a rooftop, looking out over Central City at night. How small it looked. How open. Was this really what 21st century-ers considered a city? No wonder the Flash got so famous so quickly. It was practically a small town.
Thaddeus looked at his analog watch. He was a fan of old school things: the Beatles, paper books, flying cars. The watch was no different, a relic from a certain Golden Age speedster…
It was 8:42 pm. How long would he have to wait for the Flash to return? Hm. Maybe he could go save him. Maybe that was how the Flash returned (time was weird like that). Maybe he should beat the Rogues…or just screw around and fight crime.
“Frag it.” He lay back down, smushing his messy black hair against the pavement. Calling back to his timesphere, he said, “Gideon, are there any crimes-in-progress?”
“I…bloop en…goppulchuck spidermunz,” replied the ship.
Thaddeus groaned. That was the other problem with timespheres. The Speed Force almost always short circuited them on any given trip. Took days to recover. Hundreds of years of development, and still the ol’ cosmic treadmill was the way to go.
“Guess I’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” Thaddeus pulled on his green cowl, and hopped up onto his feet. He flicked his wrist, activating the device attached to it. A small pill shot out, and he caught it in his mouth. After swallowing, he said, “3x2(9yz)4a.”
Suddenly, his body coursed with superhuman energy, vermillion lightning crackling across his skintight supersuit. He took off, speeding this way and that, down every alley that caught his attention. Within minutes, he’d found a mugging. Thaddeus took care of it, no problem, knocking the mugger out with one punch.
Sirens rang out.
“Ooh, car chase,” Thaddeus noted. He looked at the mugging victim, shot her a grin, then said, “Gotta run.”
He sped off in pursuit of the high speed chase. However, before he could reach it, the escaping sports car lurched to a halt in a field of azure energy. Something, or someone, sped around the vehicles while the cops slammed on their breaks. The newcomer speedster dropped off the criminals, then ran off without a word.
Thaddeus skidded to a stop. The cops exited their vehicles, then looked between him and the restrained criminals.
“The Flash? But I thought…” The cop shrugged. “Good job, kid.”
“I’m not…I didn’t…” Thaddeus cocked his head. “Um, bye.”
And with those final words, he sped away. As he zigged and zagged across Central City, his thoughts lingered on what had just happened.
Soooo….weird. There was another speedster, a good guy. Kids Lantern and Flash won’t be around for another few years, and the golden oldies are in retirement. But what if the timeline’s already changed? What if I changed it? That’s the goal, right, but what if... Thaddeus grimaced. What if I went too far? If Kid Flash is already operating then who knows what else has changed, or will. I can’t trust the logs, not if we’ve jumped ‘lines.
He had to forget crime fighting for now. Another speedster was taking care of it in the Flash’s place, anyway. Thaddeus needed to think bigger—multiversal big. He needed to get to the bottom of what was going on.
He needed to play Batman.
…
This was rapidly becoming one of the worst days of Iris’ life. Florez had ordered her to follow up on her Rogues piece by interviewing Len—her lying, conniving, convict ex-boyfriend. That was the last thread she wanted to tug on. For all the catharsis she thought she’d get by roasting him in a viral article, she couldn’t make it through a single date in the weeks since his “outing.” Hell, she couldn’t even keep up a freaking Tinder profile because behind every glossy, filtered photo she saw a criminal. With every sensual touch, she felt a hand around her throat and a gun pressed to her temple.
Then Wally ran away. She called her dad, she called Danny (who didn’t answer), and she went looking for him herself. No luck. So, while the CCPD scrambled to find him, she tried to get her mind off it by working, by calling Iron Heights, only to find out Len had been released. Why? No one would say.
It would make a great article if she wasn’t so goddamn worried. What if Len found Wally? What if he hurt him?
The text message made everything worse. Found your car. Wally isn’t in it.
Iris stood up from the couch, biting back tears. She typed back a quick meet you at precinct to her dad, then stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Her eyes trailed to the TV, to the nonstop local reporting of the Rogues’ message. The Flash could find Wally…but he was gone, too. Barry was gone. God, she still couldn’t believe it. Sweet, mild-mannered Barry Allen was the Flash. And he was gone. The whole world had shit the bed at once.
She’d lost her mother, her brother, her bitch of a sister-in-law. She wasn’t about to lose Wally, too. If Len had him, that son of a bitch would pay.
For everything.
Knocking at her door. For a moment, Iris expected one of the twins to rush it, to assault their guest with a flurry of greetings and questions. She stumbled, overcome with a wave of nausea. What was that? Twins, what twins?
She gathered herself, then answered the door. The officers at the door were both crying. She didn’t recognize them, but they were crying. Iris held herself up against the knob, blinking. The man—rather, the boy, maybe eighteen at the oldest—in her doorway wasn’t crying. In fact, he looked excited, a bit jittery, bouncing between his feet, fiddling with his thumbs. He had a bird’s nest of black hair, and brown eyes like, well…they looked like her dad’s.
“Iris West,” he said, grinning chalk-white. “My name’s Thaddeus…Wayne. Thaddeus Wayne.”
Iris knew a fake name when she heard one. This kid couldn’t lie worth a damn.
“I’m sorry. Can you cut to the chase? I don’t have long. Family emergency,” she said.
“It would be my honor to walk you to your car,” he offered.
Iris considered for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. But, uh…I don’t have my car. With me. My nephew took it.”
“Oh, that’s the emergency, isn’t it? Your…your nephew’s pretty reckless, huh?” Thaddeus blanched, leading the way. “Um, how old is he? Not old enough to drive, right?”
“Yep,” Iris admitted. The boy seemed to relax. What an odd reaction. “So what are you here for? Do I know you?”
“No, but I know you,” Thaddeus blurted. He blushed, then rambled, “Not in a creepy way. Just—I’m a big fan. Big, big fan. Of your reporting. First article on the Flash? Wow.”
So that’s what this was. A Flash fanboy. Someone trying to meet their “hero.” He wasn’t the first person like this that Iris had to deal with. Allowing him to open the door to the stairwell for her, she said, “Listen, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Flash is—”
“Gone. For now,” Thaddeus said, “He’ll be back. And yeah, he’s why I’m here. Sort of. I was just wondering if you, um…if anything’s been weird lately. Off.”
“Your husband is dead. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Weird in what way?” Iris asked, her mind fogging.
“Oh, you know, hallucinations, voices in your head—”
“What are you trying to sell? Counselling? Meds?” she grunted. The cops…she didn’t know those cops. She didn’t have a husband. Was this kid putting those images, those thoughts into her head?
“I’m just here to help. Seriously, big fan. Trying to…fix things. Steer the world in a slightly new direction,” Thaddeus said.
“I’m not a religious person,” Iris retorted. She forced open the exit, the world beginning to spin around her.
“Are you okay?”
The boy’s voice seemed distant. The ones in her head were right in front of her.
“Ma’am, your husband was a hero. If there’s anything you ever need…”
What about the twins? What am I going to say? Screw you, Barry Allen. Screw you for just leaving us like this. Why couldn’t you just run away?? Run away like
WALLY
Iris was lying on the ground. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there, but the voices were gone; her vision was clear. Thaddeus was…vibrating?
“AreyouokayshouldItakeyoutothehospital?” he blurred.
Iris stood, and dry-heaved twice. The boy reached for her, but she waved him off. When she straightened again, he was standing still. The vibrating…just a trick of her eyes, right? Regardless, she wanted away from him. If he was doing this…
“Leave me alone,” Iris said, “I…my nephew is missing.”
“What?” Thaddeus exclaimed. So he wasn’t involved. The kid couldn’t fake that astonishment.
“Just go,” Iris spat.
The boy stared at her, brown eyes wide like a kicked puppy's, as a few solemn seconds passed. Then he walked away. No superspeed, no powers. He was a normal, awkward kid. Iris was the off one.
She was going insane.
…
Henry Allen was his own worst enemy. He could blame it on his shoddy upbringing, but truth be told he had plenty of time to grow and learn. And he did…just not fast enough.
He’d run away and gotten in with the wrong crowd on his search for meaning and love. Those demons came back to haunt him, literally. He was possessed, he murdered, and confessed to said murders. And then denied it, not for his sake, but his son’s. To help him, to teach him to be better. Henry went to trial, and was managing it well enough. He could do this, if only for Barry. He owed Nora that much.
But Barry was gone. Henry wanted to, had to believe he was still alive, but he’d never been much of an optimist. Barry had gotten that side of him from his mother. Henry was a cynic, worn down by his own sins and those of others, much as he fought it.
So, when he heard the news, his mind went blank. Sitting in the middle of the courtroom, in front of a room full of reporters, before cameras, Henry had blurted, “I’m guilty.”
Again.
His attorney looked at him, dazed, shocked, “Excuse me? Henry, I know you’re under duress, but—”
“I’m guilty!” Henry shouted. He looked up at the jury. “I killed my wife. I killed old friends. And now I killed my son.”
“This is, excuse me, he’s in a bad state of mind,” his attorney said, “We need to postpone—”
“Objection!” yelled Carmine, the district attorney. The aged man rose to his feet, continuing, “Like father, like son. Criminals, the both of them. One’s death is no reason to postpone today’s hearing. In fact, with your permission, your honor, I’d like to put the nail in Mr. Allen’s coffin, so to speak. New evidence has come to light.”
All eyes fell to the attorney.
Henry frowned. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“The new witness I told you about,” the attorney said, “It’s nothing. Couldn’t find anything on him. He’s a dead end.”
Henry had lost track of all the witnesses. Anyone he didn’t know well slipped into a whirlpool of information that circled his mind, but didn’t penetrate it. He had no idea what to expect.
The judge offered the defense a curious look, then said, “The defense is overruled.”
Unsurprising, Henry thought, given what I’m charged with.
“Cruel son of a…” his attorney growled.
“Permission granted, Carmine,” the judge continued, “We’ve already approved your witnesses.”
The prosecutor grinned. “Then I’d like to call Jamie Missichkone to the floor.”
Abruptly, a gray-skinned man in a suit rose up from a few rows behind Henry and walked to the stand. The crowd gasped. Henry’s eyes widened. This man looked dead… why was he so familiar? After he swore his oaths, the DA continued.
“Mr. Missichkone, would you please tell the jury what you told me yesterday,” Carmine requested.
Jamie’s mouth opened. For a moment, Henry expected naught but silence. Then a wheezing breath oozed out, and his heart sank.
“Three years ago, Henry Allen murdered me,” his voice came out like nails on glass, ghoulish. Three years ago?? That was before Henry was possessed, and after he’d left the cult.
Jamie continued, “I served the Central City Police Department for almost five years, and led a raid on the headquarters of the Children of the Lightning, the cult Henry Allen served as a killer.” The defendant resisted the urge to yell. That’s where he recognized him. He was the victim…
“During that raid, he shot me twice in the chest.” Henry shook his head. That was a lie. He hadn’t been part of that raid. “I flat lined in the hospital. I died there, but…” It seemed difficult for him to speak. Not emotionally, but…structurally.
Then came the next bomb, “I was revived by Harrison Wells.”
A commotion erupted behind Henry. He squirmed in his seat. Something was very wrong here. The judge ordered the crowd to quiet, before motioning for the witness to continue.
“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth,” Jamie said, his voice steady, “In a world of superhumans, do you really doubt it? He kept me as a test subject, his little Frankenstein’s secret for years. I only recently escaped him, and when I heard what was going on here…” He coughed. “I haven’t seen my little brother in three years. Three. Years.”
There was something about the way he spoke, the cold tone in his voice, that made him seem insincere, and yet the jury seemed invested in his story. They seemed to believe him.
“Dr. Wells has been missing for weeks now,” the judge pushed.
“Because I killed him,” Jamie said. “To escape.”
Whispers tiptoed about the crowd. Henry was at a loss. What the hell was going on?
The judge looked to Carmine. “Can you provide further evidence for these claims?”
“Of course. My people are gathering it as we speak,” the DA gleamed, “And Mr. Missichkone has already agreed to work with the police. This is a…unique situation, but I fully expect the jury will come to understand it as I have.” He looked over at Henry. “Like father, like son.”
“We can beat this, Henry,” his attorney said, lying through his teeth, “With all this new information, they’re legally required to give us time to prepare. I just need no more outbursts from you. Maybe we’ll have to plead insanity, but we won’t let you…” He grimly trailed off.
They wouldn’t let him get the death penalty. They wouldn’t let him die. Ha.
Like father, like son.
…
Iris thanked the Uber driver, then ran into the police department. A part of her wanted to walk in normally, to preserve her dignity, but the violent anxiety choking her forced her legs into a sprint. The receptionist muttered greetings, but she kept moving. Past the front offices to the bullpen—
Where she nearly trucked her dad.
“Whoa, slow down, baby,” Joe said, holding her steady.
“Any news?” Iris asked. She swatted at the sweat on her forehead.
“Are you…of course you’re not okay, but take a deep breath,” Joe said. “Come on. Let’s get you seated.”
Every pair of eyes in the bullpen followed them as they walked to her father’s office. She didn’t care. Her mind was fixed elsewhere, on Wally, on Danny. Where was he? Out on the streets, looking for Wally?
As her father shut the door after her, he began, “We still have no idea where Wally is.”
“Is Daniel on this? Do you have people on this?”
Joe took a deep breath. He rubbed his eyes with shaking hands. For the first time since her arrival, Iris recognized the depth of his exhaustion and pain, the sheer willpower it took to keep himself in control in front of his colleagues. “It’s believed Daniel was…” He sighed, more grieved than exasperated, “…was with the Flash in the warehouse that…imploded. The Rogues didn’t report on it, but we found his cruiser there, abandoned.”
The great weight deepened, threatening to crush Iris. She sunk back in her seat, unable to process the news. “He’s…gone.”
Joe nodded, blinking back tears. “With everything going on, even with all the strings I pulled, I could only get two detectives on Wally’s case. Their one lead is a witness who saw a flash of light in your car. That’s it. We’re…I don’t know.” His voice cracked, “I don’t know what to do, baby. I don’t know what to do.”
Iris took his hand and squeezed it tight. A terrible silence passed over them. Something, some wall broke in her mind.
Knocking at the door.
“I’m so, so sorry,” the officer said, “Ma’am, your [nephew/brother/husband] was a hero…”
“Excuse me,” came a feminine voice. Iris’ tear-drowned eyes could barely make out a blonde bob. “I know this is a bad time, but we…we think we know the whereabouts of the Rogues. SWAT wants permission to—”
A flash of blue lightning. Screaming. The sounds of guns being cocked.
Iris wiped at her tears. There was someone else in the doorway, someone besides the woman. Tall, eyes like sockets of blue light, armored in a sleek metal suit, the man looked like a god.
Or a demon.
His metal mask slid from his head like mercury as his deep voice-in-a-voice echoed, “My name is Max Mercury. I need your help to save Barry Allen—to save the future.”
…
The cool night air whipped at James’ face, blasted by the stealthcraft’s engines. Shivering, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the ground…one thousand feet below. The others didn’t really seem to care that they were about to parachute to their deaths.
“HahahahahaHAHAHAHA!” Mick laughed like a madman, fingering his heat gun. “This is gonna be fun!”
Ever the level-headed one, Len casually slipped on his goggles and said, “Volume levels down, Mick. It’s show time.”
They were all dressed in black and gray DEO uniforms, about to put the jump back in jumpsuit. Their supervisors watched from the cockpit of the aircraft. Agent Samson, the group’s resident dirty grandma, gave them a once-over, and clucked her tongue approvingly. Agent Kim—captain of the Fun-Sized Club—rolled her eyes, biting down on the cig in her mouth.
“Keep it in your pants, Carlotta,” she said, then addressed the DEOgues, “Remember, bring Scudder and Mardon in alive. Do your job, keep this clean, and we won’t have to call in the National Guard. Or throw your asses back in jail. You ready for this?”
“No.” “Yes.”
Len and Mick looked at Sam, the latter far more amused than the former. Hot and cold, as always, just now on a whole ‘nother b-movie on-the-nose level. Mick patted him on the back, chuckling.
“Missed your smart mouth, brother,” he said.
James rolled his eyes. “Let’s get this over with.” He tightened his utility belt. “For Axel.”
“For Axel,” the others chimed.
Mick leaped out before anyone could stop him. Len sighed, holstered his cold gun, then faced James as he leaned out of the aircraft.
“See you on the other side,” he said, then fell.
James shook his head, muttering, “Not funny.”
He stepped to the edge, and looked down again. That was a mistake. His heart beat like thunder; his hands shook. Before he could back up, however, someone shoved him from behind. As he plummeted toward the ground, screaming, Agent Kim flipped him the bird from the open hatch.
He rolled at high speeds, out of control, his worst nightmare. Axel was the daredevil, not him. He’d always been acrobatic, but liked to keep things simple. Short tricks, big rewards. Not freaking skydiving!
In the blink of an eye, Len was at his side, falling steadily. “Don’t pull your ‘chute. I’ll give you the signal.”
“You—ever—done—this—before?” James said between flips. No response. “Fan—freaking—tastic!”
James used all his willpower to resist screaming again. First off, it hurt; the wind tore at the back of his throat. Moreover, he had to keep it together, had to be competent for Axel. For what could, no, what should have been, if only James had been better. Not a hero—he’d never be a hero—but a decent person.
“NOW!”
Len’s order caught James off guard. His mental monologue distracted him, but he managed to swallow his anxiety and pull his parachute on time. He floated toward the ground, toward their target: Len’s father’s house. The OG Rogues base.
Mick was still falling. What the hell?
“Stupid…” Len grumbled. He called to James, “Thanks for being reliable.”
James replied with two thumbs up, then asked, “Should we worry about him?”
Mick finally pulled his ‘chute, but it was too little too late. Though slowed, he smacked onto the roof with a sickening crunch. James landed seconds later, more gracefully than he expected. To his relief, Mick stood up, emerging from beneath his parachute.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he grunted. “Just a sprained ankle.”
“There goes the element of surprise,” Len mumbled, unlatching his parachute, eyes drawn to the ground.
“You’re not raccoons.”
The insipid comment came from a man standing on the front lawn, having just emerged from the house. Mark Mardon eyed them with more confusion than anything. He rubbed at his eyes. Report said he was schizo. Did he think he was imagining them?
Len drew and fired like an old Hollywood gunslinger. Mark reacted with surprising speed, dodgerolling out of the way of his cold blast. When he came up onto his feet, he had his weather wand in hand.
“You’re real, ain’cha,” he grunted, waving the high-tech weapon.
Suddenly, an enormous wind overcame the DEOgues. Len and Mick hit the deck, while James stumbled back, pulled by his still-attached parachute.
“Wait, wait, wait—” He tried to unlatch it, but was too slow. The ‘chute dragged him into the sky before he managed to undo it. He crashed in the flat stretch of grass that made up the backyard. When he looked up, he came eye-to-eye with Sam Scudder, who stared dumbly out at him from the kitchen window.
A hail of bullets accompanied a rainstorm. James threw himself behind the cover of a brick wall as Sam fired his pistol on repeat, shattering windows. Time to use his little toys. As the back door creaked open, James produced a small iron ball from his utility belt and rolled it toward the entrance. The second Sam stepped out, gun at the ready, the ball jerked into the air and invaded the pistol’s muzzle. When he fired, it exploded in his hand. James smirked, drawing his own sidearm as his onetime partner cursed over his burned—remaining—hand. Dossier hadn’t said shit about losing a limb. The hell?
“Always thought you were a cocky prick,” James began, rounding Sam. “You think you’re so smart. Well guess what?”
Sam disappeared in a flash of light.
James blinked twice. “Son of a b—”
Another flash of light, and Sam shot out of a piece of glass to slug him. He disappeared again before James could react. Flash again, but this time James dodged it. Still, Sam got away. Explosions sounded from the front of the house, followed by thunderclaps. Mardon was the powerhouse; the others needed backup. James had to make this quick.
“You got a kid killed,” James goaded, “Do you even feel bad about that?”
“Every damn second of every damn hour since,” echoed Sam’s voice, distorted as if through water. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you kill me.”
“We’re not here to kill you,” James retorted. “We’re with the DEO, here to put you behind bars for life.”
“You sold out? Huh,” Sam continued, “Arresting me won’t stop shit.”
“Yeah, I kinda doubt that,” James said, taking the opportunity to consider which of his gadgets would be best for the takedown. The flashbang? No, he’d jump back into the glass in time. Maybe a good ol’ fashioned handcuff, if James could react quick enough. “Sammy boy, come on out and play.”
“I want to make a deal with you,” Sam said, standing right behind James, who whirled around, gun at the ready. This time, he didn’t retreat. Sam’s eyes were full of tears, his lone hand gripping the bandaged remains of his other as James pressed the muzzle to his chest.
“You ain’t getting shit. Not after Axel,” James spat. The tears only made him madder. Screw his orders; he could take the shot.
“Your bosses’ll want to hear this. Info on the guy who took my hand, the son of a bitch who’s really behind my…behind the Rogues,” Sam said, practically pleading. “All I want is in on your deal. All I want is revenge.”
“Screw. You,” James growled, raising his pistol to Sam’s forehead.
“Do not fire,” came Kim’s voice through his earpiece. “I repeat, do not fire. Have him clarify.”
James grimaced, his finger tightened around the trigger. Sam stared back defiantly. He could do it. He could really…
“If you kill him, you’ll disappear. Never see the light of day again,” Kim warned.
James tensed…then lowered his gun. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Sam released a sigh, his lips curling into a half-hearted smile. Cradling his stump, he looked almost pitiful. “Guy’s been behind everything. The Children, Savitar, now us. Wants to ruin the Flash’s life. Wants to become the Fastest Man Alive.”
“Sounds like a load of convoluted BS,” James grunted. “And the Flash is dead.”
“Not yet he ain’t. He’s…locked away,” Sam said.
“What?” both James and Kim blurted simultaneously.
“Forget the Flash. We got to get out of here before this guy gets back. He’s a psychopath. Full blown nutjob supervillain-type. Claims to be from the future, crazy as it sounds,” Sam said. “Has the weirdest name—”
A storm of crimson lightning swallowed them. James felt one punch, then another, knocking him to the ground. He blacked out for a moment, and when he came to a gray-skinned man had his hands wrapped around both his and Sam’s throats, holding them out like dolls. Standing to the side, hands locked behind his back, was an old man. Not just any old guy, but the district attorney—the shithead who put the Rogues away in the first place!
“Not fast enough, Sam, though I appreciate the effort.” Carmine’s voice came out uncanny, cold, like ice bloodied with madness. His mouth twisted into a demon’s grin. “You’ve made a very big mistake.”