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[COLOR=#dbf220][indent][sub][B]Location:[/B] [COLOR=SILVER][I]Central City[/I][/COLOR][/sub][sup][right][b]Post #1.10:[/b] [COLOR=SILVER][I]Born to Run[/I][/COLOR][/right][/sup][/indent][/color][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][color=#dbf220][sub][B]Interaction(s):[/B] [COLOR=SILVER][I]None[/I][/COLOR][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][b]Previously:[/b] [COLOR=SILVER][I][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4912227]Nora[/url][/I][/COLOR][/right][/SUP][/color][/indent]

[b]Four weeks since Flash fought the four Rogues.[/b]

Left, right, left, right, left right.

One foot in front of the other, each step faster than the last. His young legs were strong, his small frame was impressively fast, darting down the alleys, through a clothes line, down into the sidestreet, turning a corner he kept running, voices behind him. His breath was running shorter. The adult voices behind him were shouting, chasing him.

“Stop the brat!”

The lost sight of him when he turned the corner, him darting further down the street before they could follow and turning a second corner made them lose his scent properly.

“Where the hell did he go?”

And finally

“Shit, I think we lost him.” 

The ginger haired boy was pressed against the fence, breathing as quietly as he could when the adult, tattooed, 250 pound man walked by. His heart was pounding, his hands felt numb, but he wasn’t scared. Perhaps due to the adrenaline or the runners high. After another few seconds of looking, the adult man decided that the kid had gotten away, like his partner suggested and turned back into the alley where they had run out of. The boy caught his breath, adjusting his red and silver cap, turning it backwards, his bangs poking through the front of the cap

“That was freaking close.” He admitted, hunching over slightly, hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. His red and white converse had come undone slightly, so he kneeled down to tie them, and as he did, the baseball bat came swinging through the fence, aiming for where his head had been moments ago.

“Shit.” the boy exclaimed, rolling on the dirt, facing the way of the bat, seeing the tattooed man and the bat in his hand.

“Think we’re fucking stupid, kid?!” 

“I think you just might be. Considering you’re trying to be bad guys when you know this neighbourhood is protected by me.” He said, putting his hands to his face, his lips forming a cocky grin.

“Butch, look at this idiot. Who do you think you are, kid? Fuckin’ Batman?” The one goon told the second, Butch laughed.

“No, I’m not Batman. I’m someone far better.” He said, holding up the canvas bag he had jacked from the thugs. 
“You want this bag, dirtbags? Come and get it.” He swung his fist towards them, but his entire weight was behind the momentum, feigning them and using it to turn himself around, holding onto the bag and running the other direction. 

The two men returned to chasing him, running across the street, the teenager slid across the hood of a car that stopped when the driver saw him running. He ran into the alley, this one was a dead end, he got here before the goons, but they knew he ran into here, his only option was to hide - dump the bag and hide. He tossed the bag into the trash and hid behind the slight corner of the apartment on his left side, he found an iron pipe and grasped it in his gloved hand, his fingertips poking through the ‘tactical gloves’ he had bought on Ebay for 10 bucks.

He held the pipe close to his chest, like a sword, till he saw the shadow of the man with the bat, turning the corner, the kid swung the bat, striking the man in the nose, knocking him to the floor, surprising the other man.

“Boom bitch!” The kid shouted in excitement.

“WOO! What a swing!” He continued, the other thug grimaced and put up his hands.

“Let’s see how much of a smartass you are when I’m done wringing your neck!” The ginger kid knew that the two middle aged, somewhat overweight chain smokers were far more tired than he was, he had a chance despite the fact that they were each twice his weight. He swung the pipe, Butch caught it in his hand, he tried to jank the pipe out of Butch’s hand but that proved unfruitful. Butch chuckled and  but his amusement was short lived as he got a swift kick to the nuts for his troubles. He groaned and the pipe was swung in his face, swatting him to the ground.

The first thug was now crawling to his feet, broken nose and asthma attack in full force. 

“Dude. Just, stay down. You’re gonna get a heart attack at this rate.”

“Shut the fuck up!” He shouted and charged, his swing with the bat was a little too high, as the kid ducked out of the way and the bat collided with the brick wall, the vibrations through the aluminum hurt his hand as it left him wide open to be struck in the chest and then the face again with the pipe.

The teenager panted as both of the thugs were on the ground, he threw the pipe to the ground, hitting the ground with a metallic ‘clink’. 


He grabbed the bag and got on his way, slinging it across his shoulder, when he felt one of the thugs grab his ankle with his tired hand.

“Who the hell are you?” His voice was weak, too dizzy from the concussion.

Wally turned the cap back, revealing the Flash Pin that was pinned to the front. 

“I’m The Flash.” He said, delivering a swift kick to the thug’s head, knocking him out again.

Wally would run home, to his apartment in Downtown, the worst neighbourhood in the city, not too many blocks from where a certain someone lives.

He opened the door as quietly as he could, shutting it with equal care. His dad was sick, he had been sick for some months. Weak, even the slightest sound would often disturb him. But, something wasn’t the same today. There was a different energy in the house. A metallic smell stung the air, he saw a boot print in the hallway. His dad could barely walk, nonetheless wear boots. 

He walked into his father's bedroom and was horrified to find the old man, Joseph West, former Police Detective of the CCPD, bleeding out on the floor, a seizure. His arm was broken, his face was beaten almost beyond recognition, on his chest a note was stapled.
Wallace fell to his father’s side, holding the old man, shouting for help. Trying to call his name, but Joe was unreachable, unconscious. Barely had any pulse. He scrambled for his cellphone, dialing 911. As he did, he noticed the note and what it read.


[b]We know who you are [i]Kid Flash[/i][/b]