[center][color=CC0000]M A Y   1 S T,   2 0 1 6[/color][/center]
[indent]Albert Lim arrives home with a bruised cheek and a cut lip. He wipes the blood from his chin before he steps inside the building, pulling his hood up as far past his face as possible; the last thing he needs is for his mother to catch wind of his injuries. It had taken her a month to even consider letting him step back into the outside world after the Invasion. She only needs the tiniest of reasons, he knew, to force him back into isolation. Striding into their apartment with his battered visage on display is not something he can risk.

He climbs the four flights of stairs to his home with a grimace that travels through his entire body. It had only taken two hits for him to collapse onto the ground (the very same hits that seemed to colour his face so vibrantly) – the rest of the beating was dished out with shins and feet, no doubt dyeing his ribs with varying shades of purple and blue. His thoughts bitterly turn to one of his tormentors, Brian Williamson. His voice echoes through Albert’s mind, deep and nasal. “C’mon, Chink,” it says, “What’cha gonna do, huh? Take a swing, I dare ya, Miyagi.” Albert shakes his head. Williamson wouldn’t say that. Two slurs within three sentences is too creative for the guy.

If only Williamson knew what Albert could do now, he thinks. If only he knew that when the Kryptonians invaded, and the Flash and Kid Flash were fighting the man in yellow, and Jay Garrick was doing his best to keep people clear of any debris, that Albert was at S.T.A.R. Labs. If only he knew that when the particle accelerator exploded, even though Flash and Kid Flash tried to contain the blast, Albert was caught in its middle. If only he knew that when the lightning struck Albert, it did more than give him third-degree burns across his back. If only he knew that now… before, during and after the beating… Albert had powers. And that the only reason why he hadn’t used them, was for fear that he might have killed him. 

Albert avoids his mother that afternoon. He skips dinner. He doesn’t say whether he’s okay when she knocks on his bedroom door. He just tells her to leave him alone.

Albert Lim doesn’t wake up the next morning. At the stroke of midnight, a man comes into his room and takes him into his next life.     
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[color=CC0000]M A Y   2 N D   [color=gray]♦[/color]   C E N T R A L   C I T Y   H I G H   [color=gray]♦[/color]    C E N T R A L   C I T Y,   M O   [/color][/center][hr][hr]
[indent]I never really liked school. Whether it was kindergarten or elementary school, the thought of going there seemed almost as terrifying as the thought of staying at home. I’d never really been able to put my finger on why – for most kids it was because they hated their teachers, or because they dreaded schoolwork – and while I was one of those kids, those reasons were never really the ones that made me despise the place. As I thought on it more and more, I began to realise just what it was that did. My parents were never the most attentive bunch; Dad was too busy dancing his dance with booze and easily-earned money, and Mom was too worried about what the rich family from across the street thought of her to share much of her time with me. See, the thing is, school was never this hell where the principal was Satan and the teachers were his demons-in-arms; it was just another place my parents took me so I wouldn’t bother them for a couple more hours. 

[i]“Boo-hoo, Wally,”[/i] I hear you say, [i]“You had crappy parents. Welcome to the club.”[/i]

Yeah, okay, fair. But you didn’t let me finish.

I never really liked school because it was another naughty corner my parents put me in when I was “being a nuisance,” as Mom put it, or, as dear old Dad would say, “a disgrace to the West family name.” But I never thought  I’d find [i]another[/i] reason to… not… like it, let alone one bigger than “Mummy and Daddy didn’t have time for me.” And guess what?

Yep. You got it. On the first Monday of May, 2016, I found one.

A month and one day had passed since the Kryptonians decided to flip humanity their collective birds, and society was recovering about as well as you’d think (hint: not very). Imagine a beehive. The bees are buzzing along, minding their own business, making honey and doing other bee things, when all of a sudden a big, scary, alien bear comes along and scoops up their sweet syrup, accidentally killing their queen in the process. The bees are angry, and they start attacking the bear, but not before it decides to throw their hive onto the ground and empty its bladder all over their home. Hell, it thinks, why not take a dump while it’s at it? The bees are so angry now that not only are they hostile towards big, scary, alien bears, but to any poor metasquirrel they happen to know of, too. 

That’s the state the world was in in that month of May, and the twin cities of Central-Keystone were no exception. In addition to the whole evil Supermen thing, there was also that of the S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator explosion, and the man calling himself Professor Zoom. Eobard Thawne, who claimed to be the man who killed my uncle Barry’s mother, and who also claimed to hail from the twenty-fifth century, used the Kryptonian Invasion as cover for his attack on the second Flash. Knowing full well that Barry and I would be busy trying to save anyone we could from the Kryptonians, he activated S.T.A.R. Labs’ particle accelerator, which was only weeks from completion. It exploded, energies previously only theoretical in nature spilling out through rips in the fabric of reality. With the original Flash, Jay Garrick, there to help us, Barry and I managed to contain the explosion to a couple of blocks… but the damage had been done, and Thawne disappeared without a trace.

The Gem Cities were in a state of paranoia they had never been in before, and it was spilling into their schools in bucket-loads. Central City High was one such school, and on its first day back since the Invasion, everyone was forced to see it for themselves. 

We were all gathered in the gym. Hundreds of students filled the bleachers, talking with a kind of energy I don’t think anyone was expecting. To return to school knowing that your summer would be non-existent is generally a mood-killer – I, for one, was pretty bummed out – but the place was buzzing with excitement and gossip, and it was contagious. Despite the fact that I’d been separated from my usual circle of friends (I’d arrived late, as a good speedster’s alter ego always does), I happily chatted with the girl sitting next to me, elbows propped up on my seat’s backrest.

The stage at the far end of the gym was set up for a presentation, images projected onto the large screen that hung above it: a picture of Central City, post-Invasion, all debris and distraught men and women, with one word written in bold, red letters: ‘CRISIS’. A man in his thirties stood at the microphone in front of it, clean-shaven and hair shaped with wax, dressed in a uniform with ‘SFH’ emblazoned on his left breast pocket. He smiled at us students, gaze travelling over us before he turned to look at our principal, Mr. Lampert, who was seated on the stage’s left with the rest of the teachers. Mr. Lampert gave him a nod, and SFH-Man once again greeted us with a smile.

“Hello, everyone,” he said into the microphone, his voice booming throughout the gym. “If I could have your attention, please.”

The chatter died down.

“My name’s Gardner Kolins. I’m a volunteer working for Stand For Humanity, a foundation you may or may not have heard of. We provide for those who might have lost anything in situations involving mutants, masked vigilantes or any other extranormal individuals and groups – the recent catastrophe that came with the Kryptonian invaders being no exception. In light of recent events, your school has asked us to come and talk to you about the dangers “superheroes” such as Superman pose for society, and how you can keep safe if you ever find yourselves stuck in the middle of a conflict between such a person and other, usually powered, people. In a world where more and more of these beings are popping up every day, it’s very important that the public learns of how to endure the inevitable damage these so-called heroes inflict. So I ask that you all listen. It could be matter of life and death.”

“Now,” he continued, pointing up to the screen, “Who here can tell me what “crisis” means to them?” 
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[indent]It started like that, and as Kolins talked through his presentation, it only got worse. Baseless criticisms against heroes were disguised as facts; statistics were thrown in our faces to hammer home the “reality” metahumans and superheroes were “bringing to our doorsteps”; Kolins provided commentary laced with mutant and xenophobia with a conviction that seemed to win over at least half of the gym. But it wasn’t that that disgusted me – not the most, anyway. It wasn’t that he omitted practically every good deed any superhero had ever done, twisting their acts into crimes that they deserved to punished for. It wasn’t that he was so completely racist the swastika practically etched itself onto his forehead, however subtle he may have been, or that his entire lecture relied on shock value and images of death on the screen. It was that when I looked over to the right, a few feet past him where the teachers were sitting, that I saw most of them nodding in agreement. It was that when I looked at the other students, I saw some of them look at Kolins like he was the second coming. It was that I could almost see their hate for people they weren’t even trying to understand as it gripped them like a vice – not that it needed to. Most welcomed it with open arms.

And so I found a bigger reason to dislike school than “Mom and Dad didn’t do parenting.” Maybe it was the optimist in me, or the fact that I was a superhero myself, but I liked to think that we, as people of Earth – humans, metahumans, aliens, whatever – were stronger than our fears. That we were bigger than hating on what we didn’t understand. On May 2nd, 2016, school showed me just how wrong I was. And I hated it for that.

I didn’t wait for Kolins to finish his presentation. As he talked about the total deaths caused by metahuman-related incidents since the turn of the century, I got up. I walked the length of the gym to the exit, and I stepped into the silence of the sunny outside world. 

It was music to my ears. 
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