[CENTER] [img]https://i.imgur.com/q7JhT1l.jpeg[/img][/CENTER][COLOR=dimgray][SUP][center][sub]_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/center][/SUP][/COLOR][right][sub][color=slategray][I][b]Leonard Snart [/b]
Central City – 10:34 A.M[/I][/color][/sub][/right]




The checkpoint at Fourth and Broome wasn’t even trying to pretend anymore. 

Two soldiers leaned against a parked APC, their rifles unslung but held loosely and casually, as if they already owned the block. A red drone buzzed overhead, its low whine drowned out only by the shrill bark of the Agency soldier urging, sometimes forcefully, the next citizen through the recently constructed gate. A line of Central City residents stretched across the block as each slowly progressed to the gate, where somebody would check their IDs before they could enter Brookfield Heights. 

Across from them, and a hundred yards away, a man sat on a public bench, seemingly taking no notice of it. Hoodie up, one leg crossed over the other, fingers lazily swiping at the screen of a new but cheap phone. It was an all-too-common sight in the city now, and one that the man had come to expect. In the months since the president’s new anti-meta, militant task force had come to town, he had had more dealings with their kind than most. 

He also knew better than most that the rumors that surrounded The Agency tended to skew more towards reality than fiction. 

The rumors started as just whispers. Disgruntled citizens who saw the military presence in their city and wanted to disparage the organization in any way they could. Talks of someone not showing up for work, a kid not returning home from school, or a neighbor rushed into a van with no plates and dark windows. The kind of stories you’d dismiss as conspiracy theories or trolling comments originating from social media. It was easy to blame the new boogeyman in town for every unfortunate occurrence, imagined or not. When the stories began happening every week, though, they necessitated a second look. 

Five months ago, Leonard Snart had taken that look. Along with his sister, Lisa, and best friend, Mick Rory, he had broken into the makeshift detention center that The Agency had established in the City Center. He needed to confirm the rumors with his own eyes. 

The young man still remembered the way The Agency’s lone captive at the time looked that night. Arms bound in containment cuffs, skin bruised from being locked up too long without anyone caring. The cut above his eye, where someone had slammed a heavy object into his brow, swollen with infection. The overwhelming scent of a prisoner long deprived of a proper restroom. 

Leonard still got a perverted sense of pleasure from committing his first jailbreak that night. If he had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t be his last. 

As he sat on the bench, subtly scanning the surrounding area while pretending to busy himself with inane viral videos, Leonard considered the changes his city had undergone. It used to be that the only uniforms you saw around Midtown were traffic cops and the odd parade float. Now, it was body armor and automatic rifles on every corner. Central City had never been perfect, by any means, but it had belonged to the people. The smog, cracked sidewalks, and dirty jokes painted on overpasses made the city human. Until The Agency pressed a boot to the city’s throat.

They tell the people it’s all for their safety. That the checkpoints and drones were just another part of everyday city planning. That the honest, legitimate residents of Central should view the armored vehicles outside grocery stores as a reassuring sign, allowing them to sleep more easily. But Leonard knew. He knew that the only ones sleeping easier were the ones giving the orders. 

There was paranoia in the air now. People barely talked to each other anymore. You look at a guy in line for too long; maybe he'll report you. Or maybe he’s waiting to disappear himself. The Agency didn’t need proof—just suspicion. 

For all that the Reach did in the years they occupied the planet, for all the devastation in the final year before the aliens’ defeat, Central had never suffered under their thumb as it did under The Agency’s. Which, considering a massive genetic bomb detonated over the American Midwest, altering the DNA of thousands, and pieces of the alien device’s shell crashed into Central City, decimating the nationally famous Star Labs facility, was a rather impressive, albeit ruthless, feat. 

Leonard’s eyes locked on the window of Jitter Beans across the street, one of the few franchises still open in this part of town. A broad-shouldered man sporting a buzzcut and decked in civilian wear that looked picked out by a committee trying to approximate “harmless” passed by the glass as he exited the establishment. Leonard sneered at the sight. The Agency had taught their people to dress like ordinary folks, but they still carried themselves like soldiers. 

Lieutenant Joseph Gill strode out of the coffee shop, a paper cup in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other. He turned down the block toward the checkpoint, where Leonard knew he would spend the next several minutes engaging in polite conversation with the buxom young soldier on duty. Though he doubted the young soldier in question would consider it to be all that polite. 

Gill was an important man in the city in recent months. After establishing the initial military checkpoints at the turn of the new year, the then-in-charge officer responsible for maintaining order was relieved of duty following the jailbreak that had occurred under his watch. In his stead, they brought in two new officers as The Agency revamped its checkpoints and installed fully staffed operational centers. Colonel Wade Eiling, who the media knew as the man in control of Central City, and Lieutenant Gill, who the citizens knew as the man responsible for all the day-to-day hassles they experienced. 

As the colonel’s right-hand man, Gill boasted significant influence and power. It was that influence and power that Leonard was after today. 

When he, his sister, and Rory had broken into the temporary holding facility, they hadn’t just rescued an illegally detained young man. The trio had also liberated a flashdrive from one of the government computers. A flashdrive that, five months later, they had failed to uncover the secrets of. All attempts failed to bypass the encryption embedded within, with each garnering the same message: 

AGENCY AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED

Leonard’s eyes flicked up the street, and he began to count. One… two… three.

A blonde, young woman in a cropped jacket, high-waisted jeans, sunglasses too big for the weather, and a near scandalously low-cut top rounded the corner. She looked like every influencer one would expect to be peddling exercise supplements. The blonde walked fast, turned hard, and—

Iced coffee sprayed across her chest in a clumsy arc, splashing down her neckline, as she collided roughly with the lieutenant. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Gill’s eyes lowered exactly where they were meant to. 

Leonard didn’t smile, didn’t even twitch. He just watched the display from across the street. His own eyes darting to the side, to the opposite flow of traffic, where a large man in a dirty, orange hoodie casually shambled forward. He looked like a burned-out construction worker off the clock, absentmindedly dragging himself forward through an exhausting day. The large man brushed past the still-leering lieutenant, making light contact. 

The blonde waited several more seconds, until the construction worker had passed, before apologizing again in theatrical abashment, turning on her heel, and disappearing into the flow of pedestrians. 

Gill spared a second look at the woman’s figure as she walked away before finally moving to brush the chilled liquid from his clothes. He cursed audibly and spun back around to Jitter Beans, muttering about washing up. He didn’t notice the woman pull out a cellphone and type out a message, nor did he pay any attention to the man in the orange hoodie crossing the street to walk past an occupied bench. 

Leonard’s burner phone buzzed in his hand, giving the all clear. 

As Mick Rory passed by Leonard’s bench without stopping, he flashed another phone, this one recently pickpocketed, before tucking it back into the hoodie’s pocket.

Leaning back slightly, Leonard’s eyes moved to the hazy skyline. He thought about how Central used to sparkle; the city once full of spirit. Not anymore. 

It started with the checkpoints. Then the curfews followed. It wasn’t long before the quiet disappearances began. None of it made the papers, but to those who paid attention, the silence was louder than sirens. 

They say it’s for peace. For order. 

Leonard Snart considered this and let the corner of his mouth twist, just a fraction. The city had changed, yes, and The Agency had control, but that didn’t mean he intended to roll over and accept it.

[i]They think they’ve got control? Good. Let’s make them choke on it.[/i]