[center][img]http://typophile.com/files/the-flash-2014-53786eca2610e_3456.png[/img][/center]

[center][color=gold][h2][i]Rise of the Rogues, Part I[/i][/h2][/color][/center]

[color=red][b][i][u]The West Household, Central City:[/u][/i][/b][/color]

Barry Allen sifted through his mother's case file for what felt like the ten-millionth time. The documents and pictures that made it up were spread out across his bedroom's timber floor, lined up next to the notes he had made over the passing years. He looked through them again and again, over and over, reading every word and taking in every detail multiple times over in a matter of seconds, and yet... Nothing. During all the years that he'd spent searching for answers, he always came up short, always felt the same disappointment in himself, knowing that because of his inability to make sense of it all, his father is still rotting away in prison for a crime he didn't commit. When Barry first discovered his powers, he thought that they would help him find his mum's true killer: the man in yellow, the man with the red eyes. But all they did was bring the disappointment sooner.

However, he didn't let this disappointment bring him down. He used it to motivate himself. After weeks of training to control his powers, Barry went out into the city with the goal of protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. He couldn't bring the man who murdered his mother to justice. But he could do so to the city's criminals.

The ring of his phone snapped Barry out of his thoughts. Running his fingers through his blond hair, he took the phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. Cisco Ramon. Barry smiled. His partner in super-heroics never failed to brighten his mood; his child-like enthusiasm for life was infectious, and his bright mind was something to be admired. It was he who designed and built Barry's suit. All Barry did was specify the aesthetics. He answered the call.

[color=#ba1026]"Hey, Cisco. What's up?"[/color] he asked, packing up his mother's case file in a blur.

[color=#db953e]"Do you have my suit handy?"[/color] replied Cisco. He'd developed quite a bond with his creation.

[color=#ba1026]"Yeah, I have it. Why?"[/color] Barry said, glancing at the golden ring that encased his middle finger.

[color=#db953e]"There's a robbery in progress. Gold City Bank. Police scanners say the perps are armed and dangerous."[/color]

[color=#ba1026]"I'm on my way there. I'll talk to you through the comm-link."[/color] 

He hung up, placed the phone on his bed, then dashed out of his bedroom window, the air sizzling around him. The ring activated, and out came his suit, pieces of red and gold attaching themselves to him bit by bit. Yellow lightning arced behind him, blending with the red blur that trailed off his suit. 

Barry set a course for the bank, one hand pressed to his earpiece. [color=#ba1026]"Cisco?"[/color]

[color=#db953e]"I'm here, man. Go kick some burglar-butt!"[/color]
[center][b]*[/b][/center]
[color=red][b][i][u]Gold City Bank:[/u][/i][/b][/color]

Detective Joe West stood behind one of the many police cars that barricaded the entrances and exits of Gold City Bank. He'd gotten to the scene as soon as he could, calling his daughter, Iris, to let her know that he won't be home for another few hours. That's how long these stakeouts usually took; the robbers would sit in the bank with all their hostages, too scared to come out and face the music. If they were a large group - say, four or five people, then maybe their bravado would be a little higher. But from the intel the CCPD could gather, there were only two people in there. Two experienced burglars, recently escaped from prison, their names Leonard Snart and Mick Rory. Joe had heard of them, and their methods. Snart would be the brains, planning out the heist, and Rory would be the muscle, performing the bulk of the operation while Snart kept watch. But what interested Joe the most was their apparent criminal code: They don't kill unless they have to. They don't go near drugs. And last but not least - It's all about the score. Three rules, that as far as Joe could tell, they had followed for the duration of their criminal careers.

Joe took a look at all the officers that stood around him. Any moment now, they would be given the order to get the hostages out of the building and apprehend Snart and Rory. They were all brave men and women, all dedicated to the job, prepared to do anything in the name of the law. They reminded him of Barry; the boy whose mother was murdered by his father when he was just eleven years old. The boy that dedicated his life to proving his father's so-called innocence. The boy who had only weeks before woken up from a nine-month lightning-induced coma. The boy who, ever since that terrible night all those years ago, had been Joe's adopted son, his loveable, determined adopted son, who Joe sometimes wanted to throttle but oftentimes wanted to hug.

Little did Joe know that the gust of wind that blew the police cap from his head was said adopted son.

Barry skidded to a stop on Gold City Bank's tiled floor, taking special care not to trip over any of the hostages that lay on it - the force of the impact would most likely kill them. He began surveying the area. To him, time was passing normally. To the people lying on the ground, he was nothing but a red streak. He took in his surroundings: Total number of hostages, thirty-four. Security cameras, all coated in ice. The door to the bank vault, melted completely on one side. The metal was still hot. Whoever these robbers were, they had to be like Barry. This, he concluded, was going to be awesome.

In four seconds, he had transported all of the hostages out of the building and behind the barricade of police cars, then bolted back into the bank, making his way to the vault. Once inside, he took a look around. No sign of the robbers, whoever they may be. Dang.

[color=#ba1026]"Cisco. They got away."[/color]

[color=#db953e]"Dude, that sucks. On the bright side, we have a Code 7 in the City Centre,"[/color] said Cisco, his voice crackling into Barry's ear.

[color=#ba1026]"A meal break?"[/color]

[color=#db953e]"Okay, never-mind, not a Code 7. Let me check what it [i]actually[/i] is..."[/color]

And then arctic cold pain wrapped around Barry's legs, and ice coated him from hip to floor, negating movement. Holding back a shout of alarm, his eyes landed on the source of his ice-capped legs. A man in his early thirties, wearing a blue parka and darker blue goggles, holding an even darker blue gun. Behind him stood a man encased in a white suit, wearing green goggles and holding a black gun, attached to a large metal box on his back.

[color=#00b5ff]"Hello,"[/color] said the man in the parka. [color=#00b5ff]"My name is Leonard Snart. And who might you be?"[/color]