Hidden 10 yrs ago 10 yrs ago Post by Hillan
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Hillan I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.

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Two months ago; September 14th, 2016.

”My name is Barry Allen, and I am the fastest man alive.” Is a phrase iconic through the stream of time. The world's fastest man has put his print on the entire universe with his incredible feats of intelligence, bravery, and of course, his speed. Faster than all else, no one his equal, no one able to match his speed. Not the alien from Metropolis, or the Caped Crusader could ever come close to rival his velocity.

Except for one man. His biggest fan, and his greatest enemy, a foe of his own creation. Like a reflection in a cracked mirror. A being capable of matching him blow for blow, step for step, what Barry had in bravery, his foe matched with cruelty, for all of Barry's intelligence, he was matched with cunning. His rival – his opposite, a reverse. Their rival is the most legendary of all time, a battle that's been raging through all of time. Past, future and present, deep within the speedforce the two are fighting for centuries, never aging a day, matching each other in every way.

A fierce thunderstorm was wrecking Havoc on the coast of Central City, each thunderbolt louder than the previous one, rain was pouring down, each drop like a bullet. In a bright light erupted, as if lightning had struck, and a streak of yellow – followed by a streak of red emerged, the two were entangled together, as they tore through the coast of Central City, tearing up the water they were moving on, the speed at which they were movin sent shockwaves that destroyed the sand under their feed when they reached the shore – shattered glass and broke the asphalt. Till they arrived in the Central City sport center – empty for the night, where the two stopped moving around, focusing on their intense battle. They crashed at each other, and all around them, matching streaks did the same, countless versions of them fighting one another at speeds far too fast to even comprehend for anyone but the two, thunderbolt after thunderbolt was heard when the two forces collided, the arena being all but demolished from collateral damage from their battle in a mere seconds. In the middle of the field, the two forces were separated to one corner, as they charged at the other, shapes could be seen – two bodies, one Yellow, one Red, their sparks the color of the other's suits. Their fists collided, and lightning erupted, demolishing the football field, tearing up the ground, like a natural catastrophe.

The two stopped like that, while the other forms around them continued their incredible deadly dance, ruining the entire arena in their wake. The two forms traded words, at incomprehensable speeds. The Red Shape swung with his right arm, and after perhaps millions of years of this battle, he was exhasuted. The man in the Yellow suit, equally as fatigued from the long battle, raised his left arm, and blocked, His arm shot out, his fingers outstretched as his hand vibrated through the Red man's chest, and as it did, so did all the countless other versions of the two – Every single one, at all the exact same moment.

In a moment past, all of the shapes faded away in a bright glow, like stardust, leaving nothing behind, except for the two shapes in the middle of the now completely demolished arena. The yellow man removed his hand from his opponents chest, pulling it out like a sword, as blood pooled in mouth of the loser of the universe's longest duel, he fell to his knees, and the yellow man caught him by the throat, each of their cowls fell down, as they looked at each other, one of them in agony – the other's gaze was full of hate – of pride – of sadism.

”Goodbye, Flash.” The Man in the yellow suit said. The Flash was dead.

With no one left in his path, no one who could stop him, he would be free to rule over all of time.

Except his near endless battle had drained his powers almost completely. As this dawned on him, a explosion was heard from within the city – S.T.A.R LABS particle accelerator exploded, and with it, the dawn of a whole new world would arrive. Using what little power he had left, he made his way to a certain laboratory of a certain C.S.I at the CCPD, just in time for a Dark Matter-Powered Thunderbolt to break through the window, taking the mild-mannered scientists place. The bolt collided with him, and with it, it changed history forever.

The Flash was no more.

Present Day

The man walked into the coffee shop, one foot in front of the other, wearing his navy blue coat, his chinos and his converse, slender build and blonde hair, boyishly-handsome, one could say, a 20 something with all the intellect in the world. He rang the bell, and the Waitress came up behind the counter, the young waitress, around his age smiled at him. "Oh, hello!" she said, and he smiled back, softly, nodding sheepishly. "I'd like the usual." He spoke, and she smirked as she prepared his coffee and a bagel. She handed him the bagel in a handkerchief, and the coffee in a to-go mug, he paid and she handed him the receipt, he checked the receipt, on the back, there was a number, and the girl giggled. "Call me." She said, and the man smiled, heading out, biting into his bagel with a grin, as he headed out the door, his eyes caught his reflection, and he stopped for a second, feeling his fingers over his clean shaved face, still not used to the way he looked.

"Glad the body fusion worked." He said to himself, waving back to the waitress, and taking to the streets. He had to get to work at the Central City News. He was Eddie Thawne - 24 year old former beat cop who didn't have a single prospect in his life, who had been struggling with alcoholism and a nasty divorce, depression and suicidal thoughts, till two months ago, when he had turned his life around, revealing a charming, intelligent and ambitious genius.

And working at a newspaper was the perfect cover - an excellent way to get close to the action.

Hidden 10 yrs ago Post by Roman
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Roman King of Dirt

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Handsome brass. Cute waitresses. Bright n' breezy coffee places where twenty-somethings hang out with laptops all day. Very cliché. Bloody lovely intro to the good ol' U-S-of-A.

Digger Harkness stood from his chair and pulled a couple scruffy bills from the pocket of his coat, handing them over the bar to the cashier behind in exchange for a take-away cup of hot mud. Tar black, no sugar. Bitter as his mother. He took a sip and scalded the back of his throat, groaning through the pain. A sharp wake-up on a hungover morning. Just what Harkness needed for a day of scouting. He donned his shades as he pushed through the glass doors of the pseudo-diner, and waited on the corner for three minutes before a boxy, navy-blue sedan rolled up and stopped beside him. The passenger-side door opened, and Harkness walked around and got in, the car beginning to leave barely before Harkness had taken his feet off the tarmac.
"Only the one coffee, Digger?" The driver asked, a burly man in a thick jacket and a heavy brow.
"Get off yer bike, mate. Wasn't gettin' office take-out."

-

An hour later, Harkness leant against a signpost on the square across from the Central City Main Bank. He was holding a phone up to his ear, talking to the driver who was currently inside the bank. Recon; not highly professional, but then neither was Harkness - just talented. The coffee was long gone, and instead, Harkness fetched a small flask from his coat and took a sharp swig, pulling air through his teeth as the back of his mouth burnt from the harsh vodka. Enough to keep the day going for now. The driver finished his recon, and Harkness told him to head to his new destination, hanging up the phone and binning it in the closest trachcan as he began to make his way across town.

-

Another hour; this time, the Central City PD HQ. Calm, but constant, traffic - in, out, squad cars and civilian. Cop numbers seemed...average. Harkness couldn't find any real elevated criminal presence in Central City, and in truth, it had been what had made him choose this city as his starting point. Metropolis was too big, and bank hits in Gotham were the normal Tuesday procedures for the cops there. Central was a good first hit - a good place to put his name on the map. Australia had bored him, run out of challenges. Self-deportation seemed like the next career move.

Harkness looked at his watch. Twelve blocks away, exactly to the minute, his erstwhile companion put a brick through a jewelry store window and sprinted away. Digger could hear the alarm bells on the wind, but he kept a fierce eye on his watch. One minute...two minutes...three minutes...

Three squad cars and a meat wagon roared from the headquarters in front of him, sirens blaring. Harkness took a mental note. He turned from the HQ in a flurry of heavy fabric and began hurrying away. Across the street, next to a newspaper vendor, stood a rack of payphones. Harkness grabbed the handset on the far-right, put some coins through the slot, and dialed a number he had memorized in the car two hours ago.

"They there yet?" He asked. He looked at his watch again. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes.

Eight minutes later the phone line crackled again. "They're in."
Harkness hung up the phone.

Eleven minutes total. Not bad, he had to admit. But...more than enough.
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