[center][color=CC0000]M A Y 2 N D, 2 0 1 6[/color][/center] [indent]There are times when Barry Allen hates his job. Times when all the years he spent studying for it, all of the sleepless nights, all of the countless hours, seem like they’ve only helped with one thing: the realisation that no matter how much he does, or how fast he runs, people will always – [i]always[/i] – get hurt. It’s during those times that Barry tries to remind himself of why he chose to become a CSI in the first place; of finding his mother dead in a pool of her own blood, his father carried away in handcuffs; of the conviction he felt for finding his mother’s true killer and clearing his father’s name. He reminds himself that for every day he spends at work, he’s helping bring another criminal to justice – helping ease their victims’ pain just a little bit. Most times, it helps him like his job again. But now, as he stares at Albert Lim’s bloody corpse, all he can think is, [color=CC0000][i]I could have stopped this. If I knew this was happening… this kid might still be alive. [/i][/color] There are times when Barry Allen hates his job. This… is one of those times. Albert Lim lies on his side, lifeless and cold, a pool of blood absorbed by his duvet. The deep red stains his bedroom’s walls. It covers his bed and his desk, his computer and his wardrobe, the ceiling and the fan that hangs from it; messy, violent splatters, disturbing in their number. “Ever seen anything like this?” asks Patty Spivot. She’s a former flame of Barry’s, his girlfriend before Iris, now a good friend and colleague; the most talented forensic analyst he knows after himself. She stands next to him, dressed so she doesn’t contaminate the crime scene – although most of her face is covered, her bespectacled eyes still show. They’re all Barry needs to see her horror, and he meets them with his own. During his time as a CSI, he’s seen a lot of terrible things. Some still haunt him to this day. But something like[i] this[/i]? [color=CC0000]“No. Nothing like this,”[/color] he answers. He walks towards Albert with cautious steps, careful not to smear any blood with his boots. The body is covered in lacerations – they’re deep, some cutting all the way through, their edges burnt. Whatever was used to stab him was [i]hot[/i]. His skin is red in places, raw and peeled – electrocution. The red mingles with burn scarring, its shape consistent with that of… [color=CC0000]“Lightning,”[/color] Barry whispers, his mind working faster than light can travel. The scars aren’t new, but they aren’t old, either. They definitely aren’t there because of whatever happened to the victim last night. “Yeah,” says Patty, examining the blood spatter on the wall to his right. “The mother says he was caught in the S.T.A.R. Labs explosion. You know, the particle accelerator.” She pauses, lost in thought. “Hmm. The blood’s impact velocity… it would’ve had to be fast for it to spatter this way. [i]Really[/i] fast. The weapon would’ve had to be a gun.” Barry’s brow creases in perplexity. [color=CC0000]“No, it couldn’t have been. It’s all cuts and burns, no gunshot wounds… I don’t think we’re looking for a regular Joe.”[/color] “So, what?” asks Patty, “You think a mutant did this?” [color=CC0000]“No.”[/color] His eyes widen as he begins to fit the pieces of the puzzle. The moment he stepped into the room, he could feel something was different… and yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But now – with the blood spatter, the deepness and the heat of the cuts, the electrocution, the burn scarring – it all starts to make sense. That feeling he couldn’t quite explain, the feeling that he couldn’t put his finger on… it’s the Speed Force. Residue of the energy that gives Barry his powers. He clenches his fists, dread spreading through him. And to think that yesterday, Iris had woken him up to such great news. [color=CC0000]“Not a mutant. A [i]speedster[/i].”[/color][/indent] [hr][hr][center] [img]https://67.media.tumblr.com/33de6a431b568b041ffadd2e50092b87/tumblr_o7qkwvmlIF1spa8loo2_r2_540.png[/img] [color=CC0000]T H E W E S T - A L L E N H O U S E H O L D [color=gray]♦[/color] C E N T R A L C I T Y, M O [/color][/center][hr][hr] [indent]I could’ve stared at her forever. After I walked out of the presentation, she was quick to follow. She looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes, hair perfectly framing her face, tucked behind her ears; they searched mine as she reached for my hand, my skin tingling with electricity not even the Speed Force could replicate. With a vibrant smile, her white teeth shining in the sunlight, she asked me if I was okay. [color=FFF200]“Yeah,”[/color] I said. [color=FFF200]“It’s just… what that guy’s saying… it makes me so [i]angry[/i].”[/color] “Then don’t listen to him, Wally,” she told me. “He’s an asshat.” Linda Park, ladies and gentlemen. God, I love her. The rest of the day was nothing special. Y’know, school. Jared Morillo, my best friend, raved about his (alleged) girlfriend, who we had never met or seen pictures of, for the billionth time, and Lilith Clay, [i]Linda’s[/i] best friend, did her best to prove that she wasn’t real. Typical, everyday stuff. No explosions or supervillains or Tricksters off their meds. But before you groan and moan about how Kid Flash is boring and you wanted more ass-kicking, and tell everyone that Spider-Man’s cooler (which, by the way, is [i]hurtful[/i]), I’m going to stop you right there and give you what you want. So strap in, dear readers, and get ready for a wild ride, because this is the story of how I met New York’s favourite person to crap on, flush down the toilet and hunt down in the sewers. But first, to set the scene. I walked home with Linda, our hands linked together, that wonderful electricity coursing through me again. It put a skip in my step that made her giggle; hands-down the best sound to ever grace my ears. Normally I would’ve ran home, but whenever I got the chance to walk with Linda, you can bet that I took it. Every second with her beat running, every time – no exceptions. And I loved running. If it was my lifeblood, then she was my everything. Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s a cliché, but dammit, it’s [i]my[/i] cliché. Aunt Iris had already prepared dinner when we arrived. Roast chicken marinated in honey and soy, with a side of vegetables and the bars Dr. Wells worked up for Barry’s and my accelerated metabolism. She’d always been good to me, and the gratefulness I felt towards her and Barry when they took me in after Mom died and Dad ditched never faded away. I kissed her on the cheek to show her, and sat down at the table to tap my feet until Barry got home and I could start eating. About ten minutes later he walked in, interrupting Iris and Linda’s conversation (they were talking about journalism, like they always did; the result of an aspiring journalist being in the same room as an actual one). His blond hair was a mess, and his face was weary, maybe even a little sad – a far cry from the easy smile he usually wore. [color=CC0000]“Hey, hon,”[/color] he said, leaning down to give Iris a kiss. “Hey, Bear,” she smiled. “How was work?” [color=CC0000]“Later,”[/color] he returned her smile, taking a seat next to her. [color=CC0000]“How about you, Linda? Wally get you into any trouble today?”[/color] “Oh, you know. Not any more than usual,” Linda laughed. Though the joke was at my expense, I couldn’t help but join in. She had that kind of effect on me. [color=CC0000]“So how was school?”[/color] asked Barry. [color=FFF200]“Ehhhh. Racists. Hate speeches. Jared and his ‘girlfriend’. Nothing special.”[/color] I started digging into the food, the flavor exploding in my mouth. [color=FFF200]“Food’s delicious, Aunt Iris.”[/color] Barry raised his eyebrows, some levity replacing his… well, non-levity. [color=FFF200]“What?”[/color] He and Iris shared a smile, keeping quiet, like there was some secret they were debating whether or not to tell. It was infuriating. Eventually, Barry broke the silence. [color=CC0000]“There was a murder last night,”[/color] he said. His smile was gone, and he was looking directly at me. [color=CC0000]“I was at the scene today.”[/color] [color=FFF200]“And this is something to smile about, why…?”[/color] He ignored me, pressing on. The weariness returned to his face. [color=CC0000]“It was just a kid. Your age, maybe a year or so younger.”[/color] He paused. [color=cc0000]“I think a speedster did it.”[/color] What I did next could be described as a double-take, but I don’t think that adequately describes the horror I felt course through me at that moment in time. My mind immediately turned to the one culprit I knew might be responsible, and the moment it did, my body responded in kind – by launching me the heck out of my chair. Images of Thawne flitted in and out of my thoughts, his blazing red eyes burned into my head. The thought of facing him again terrified me, and as much as I tried to recover from my reaction, it was obvious that everyone in the room knew it. Linda looked at me with worry, Iris with sympathy. Barry, though – his eyes reflected my fear. [color=FFF200]“You don’t think that it’s – ”[/color] I began. [color=CC0000]“I don’t know,”[/color] he sighed. [color=CC0000]“Maybe. But the M.O.’s different. Bloody. There’s a similar case in New York City – the NYPD think a speedster did it, too. Darryl’s sending me over there to help out.”[/color] My fear was joined by resolve almost immediately. Nothing scared me more than Thawne did; after the beating he dished out to Barry and I, the very thought of seeing him again was enough to make me queasy. But just the notion of someone, a speedster, like me and Barry, using their powers to kill, gave me determination that turned that fear into drive, no matter if the culprit turned out to be Thawne or someone else entirely. [color=FFF200]“Great. I’ll see you there.”[/color] [color=CC0000]“Wally, you don’t – ”[/color] [color=FFF200]“Yes, I do. C’mon, Barry. It doesn’t matter whether this is Thawne or not. Whoever this is, they’re a killer, and there’s no way I’m going to sit this one out and let you shoulder this all by yourself. We’re partners.”[/color] His lips formed into a small smile. [color=CC0000]“Okay, Kid. I guess I’ll see you there.”[/color] I turned to Linda. Her eyes were a mix of different emotions; worry, pride… love. [color=FFF200]“Will you be okay to get home?”[/color] She nodded. “Go get ‘em, Fleet Feet.” I pecked her on the lips, taking out the ring that’d been sitting in my pocket for the entire day. It fit perfectly on my third finger, its golden Flash emblem inviting me to tap it – the suit sprung out in an instant, and I moved to put it on, the slightest bit of electricity crackling around me. It fit me like a glove, slipping on without a hitch – Kid Flash now stood before my family, smiling brashly. I turned to leave, starting at a slow jog – “Wally, wait,” Iris said. I stopped in my tracks. “Barry and I have news… This probably isn’t the best time, but…” [color=FFF200]“It’s okay. I can wait. You can tell me when I come back.”[/color] I winced at the disappointment that crossed her face, and I almost apologised if not for the understanding that replaced it. “Okay. Be careful,” she said. I grinned. [color=FFF200]“When am I not?”[/color] I jogged out the door and ran down the street, gradually building up to just under the speed of sound. When I left suburbia and Central City behind, I let loose, the sonic boom a satisfying [i]thoom[/i] as the world slowed around me. It’s weird, how the Speed Force worked; it gave us speedsters two modes to work with, normal and speed. Speed mode activated whenever we used our powers; whenever we were afraid, threatened or even excited. Time slowed down, and before you knew it the only sounds you could hear were a low hum and the beat of your heart. Unless you had a watch on you, you had no idea how much time had passed during your journey from Point A to Point B. The best you could do was guess. By my best estimation, I arrived at the Bronx in just under half an hour. It was there that I met the webbed wonder, at what’s arguably the greatest fast food joint in the world: Big Belly Burger. I’d like to say that we just bumped into each other and acquainted ourselves over a burger and fries, but no. Nothing’s ever that simple. I met Spider-Man in the parking lot of a Big Belly Burger in the Bronx. But we didn’t go inside to feast on some glorious, greasy goodness. No, I had to save his ass. From who, you ask? Well, isn’t that the question. I’ll let Spidey tell you. [/indent]