Ultimate Speed Force #1: Let's Hit the Ground Running

[tec271939]

Ultimate Speed Force #1: Let’s Hit the Ground Running



“You ready for this?” Leonard Snart whispers across the growing moonlight, his chilly voice echoing throughout the rooftops. He crouches atop a small family-owned grocery store, Wilson & Co, his blue hooded-jacket thrown over his head, a tight blue vee-neck tee-shirt hugging his chest, his eyes covered by blue-tented sunglasses, a relentless snarl pulling up his teeth.



“Never been more ready in my life.” Another man whispers, his body covered in only a wife-beater and cargo pants, a pair of swimming goggles adorning his mangled face, blackened and blistered from the heat of many fires. They call him “Heat Wave.”



“Good, ‘cause this is not the same as those little heists you’ve been pullin’ all yer life, mate. Need ta step up yer game.” Another man says, clouded in the shadows and leaning up against the conjoining building, his scarf dangling in the breeze, his trench coat fluttering down to his ankles. “It’s a nippy one out her, alright. When can we go and get this over wit’? He’s had plenty of training, yeah?”



“Not quite yet, Cap. We’ve gotta wait for the sign.”



“I told you not to call me Cap, makes me feel like a,” Cap pauses, his eyes shutting and his body shivering. “A hero. Next thing ya know I’ll be fighting bloody Nazis or somethin’.”



“You did do that once though, didn’t cha?” Heat Wave chimes in as he sits lower, crossing his legs and slumping his body to rest. Cap waves the comments away, his eyes remaining shut.



“That was completely different, I was fighting zombie Nazis. For gold. Nazi gold.”



“What about the time we fought the Neo-Nazis trying to take of the Czech Rebulic?” Snart calls out again.



“Cold…” Cap trails off after starting his sentence with such fervor. “I guess we did do that. Damn, they might as well paint a bloody ‘A’ on my chest.” The three share a laugh as the chilling winds continue to stream by. “Is that cooky Irishman finished in there yet?”



“Call him Mirror Master, Cap. And not yet, not until we—“



“See the sign. Yes, yes, I’ve heard the plan before. So has Heat Wave. I’m just ready to be done with this. We’re each only getting fifty big ones, I don’t get why so meticulous.”



“You remember what happened to Sands?” Everyone on the rooftop goes silent, all diverting their eyes to the 1st Bank of Central City just across the way. The lights stream through the frost-bitten, early-January windows illuminating the large parking lot outside. The three men watch as a teller moves to the side of the room and turns off all of the lights, the bank going dark and silent as the workers begin to pour out. “Heat, you remember the rules?”



“Yeah, Boss. Never hurt women and children. Only use my powers in case of emergency. And, if the Flash shows up, kill ‘em.” A smile breaks across Snart’s face.



“That’s my boy.” The three move into a better position, all standing side-by-side and ready to pounce at the earliest sign. A small window on the north side of the building cracks and screeches and shatters, glass shards falling into the parking lot. The three wait for just a moment until, finally, they see that no one heard the noise. “Let’s move.” The three jump from their perch and land gracefully on the pavement one story down and sprint across the parking lot pavement, past the only car left idle in the lot. A small, red Ford Thunderbird. As they reach the glass, Snart stops them all. “Cap, go first, scope out the place for any security guards. If we don’t hear from you in one minute, we’re going in.” Cap just nods, climbing through the window and into the bank. He quietly sneaks through the bank, his eyes darting from corner to corner. He sees nothing, so he pulls out a quaint desk chair and takes a seat, waiting for his brethren to show. One-by-one Citizen Cold (Leonard Snart), Heat Wave and finally Mirror Master climb through the window each coming up close to Cap.



“Coast’s all clear, no guards at all. How long you think we’ve got?” Heat Wave mumbles.



“No more than a few minutes, let’s go.” The team races down the hallway and one-by-one jump the teller’s counter and rip open the cash drawers. “Where the hell are the sacks?!” Snart growls. Mirror Master gazes around and finds himself in a little glass water cup sitting on the edge of the counter. He reaches out to grab the cup, but instead his fist disappears straight through it. When it emerges, Mirror Master stands holding four burlap sacks and a dubious grin plastered across his face. The men each grab one sacks from mirror master and pull it from his hands, placing the money in there quickly before turning and running for the safe. Heat Wave slows and kneels over to catch a breath.



“Boss, can we wait for a minute?” Snart looks back, his eyes glaring at Heat Wave from under his glasses.



“You only get what’s in your sack, Heat Wave. Take as many breaks as you want.” Heat Wave takes a deep breath and begins lumbering forward again after his compatriots. He turns a sharp corner in the hallway and finds himself staring at the other three—Snart, Cap and Mirror Master—all staring at the safe.



“What’s the problem, boss?” Heat Wave asks while walking closer to what everyone is staring out. Finally, to his shock and disbelief, Heat Wave sees what the other three see—a small hole already drilled through the safe, and through the hole they can all see four barren silver walls, open drawers strewn across the floor, and a moneyless safe.



“Who the fuck sold out?!” Snart screams, turning his attention to Cap, grabbing him around the throat and pushing him against the wall. “Who the hell sold out? Well, Cap?”



“What the bloody hell are you lookin’ at me fer, Cold? Ya got new blood right ther’.” Cap points his skinny fingers at Heat Wave.



“Me? I didn’t do nothin’. I barely even knew the plan.” Cold releases Cap’s throat and lets him slide the ground, gasping for breath.



“I’m going to find out who it was. And when I do, I’m going to kill whoever it was. Nobody crosses the Rogues, do you hear me? Nobody crosses the Rogues.”



“Hey guys, what’s all the chatter about? I heard that thieves are generally supposed to be quite. Did I hear wrong?” Standing in the dim light of the fluorescents, leaning casually against the corner of the wall stands a single man covered head-to-toe in a scarlet suit, partially metallic, partially latex, with small sparks of lightning fluttering around him, deep blue eyes and the most annoying smile shining brightly into the dim situation. The Rogues stand silent and still. Heat Wave stammers and mumbles, but no words come out of his mouth; Mirror Master looks around for a mirror, an escape route; Cap standing firm, but his hands shaking; Cold staring right into the eyes of the man they call



“Flash.” Cold’s words come out stricken with venom, his eyes glaring and his jaw rigid.



“Of, come on Cold, there’s no need for all this tension amongst old friends. Right, Cap?” The Flash takes a step forward, the lightning vibrating throughout the corridor.



“Mirror Master, you know what to do, right?”



“Workin’ on it, Cold.”



“Are you guys trying to run away from me? Did I kill the party?” Flash takes a few more steps, his mere presence vibrating through the four Rogues. “I mean, I already took a look in the safe room, and there’s no money in there, so I’ll at least have to confiscate your sacks.”



“You know what the funny thing is, Flash?” Flash stands there silent, but quizzical. “We didn’t even take the money.” Cold points his hand at the Flash and unleashes a blistering furry of ice at the speedster, who dodges quickly, only to land a hard punch of Cold and knock him down a pace. Before the Flash can regain his ground Cap hits him hard with a boot to the side. Flash spins and disappears for a moment, reappearing to pepper in an assault of fists on Cap. He feels heat at his back and again disappears in a flurry of lightning just in time for the fire to dodge and slam into Cap, knocking him out cold on the floor. “I’m done with this shit!” Cold screams, dropping his sacks and unleashing a wall of ice in front of the four that the Flash stands on the other side of.



“Wow, you guys have become the best bad guys ever. You trapped yourselves.”



“Don’t be such a fuckin’ cock, Flash. You can see us, but we can also see us.” Everyone grabs ahold of Mirror Masters arms as they disappear into the wall of ice. The Flash, a look of disappointment on his face, taps a small button on the side of his belt and disappears in a flurry of lightning.















The sun shines brightly, reflecting off the layers of snow, blinding Wally West as he attempts to find his normal parking spots eight rows from the front door and sixteen spots back. He’s parked there every single day since he graduated from the Academy, right next to a beautiful red Ford Thunderbird that’s always here before him and gone after. His auburn hair looks to be on fire as he pulls up and steps out of his car, his crystal blue eyes accentuating his wild grin. A red button-up shirt is thrown sloppily onto his shoulders as he walks quickly into the building: Precinct 12 of the Central City Police Department.



He pushes open the large double-glass doors, his grin never fading from his face as he finds his way to his desk, taking off his backpack and taking a seat in the compact space. All around him is a high ceiling with a large wrap-around balcony on the second floor. Four gray walls reach up from the ground and close Wally in, and his only comfort is those around him.



“How’s the life, Wallace?” Wally hears the subtle voice of his partner seep in from over the cubical walls. He looks up and sure enough, staring over his shoulder, is Detective Owen Mercer; his short brown hair cropped perfectly into a spike-like unicorn horn protruding from his face, his wild grin superseding that of even Wally’s own, his long blue jacket covering up his favorite black and white suit. Owen Mercer is, in short, a character.



“Just tryin’ to live the dream, you know? How about you, Owen?” Wally diverts his attention away from his partner, cleaning up the pencils on his desk, tidying his surroundings and making a workable area.



“Just tryin’ to make it upstairs.” Wally lets out a little laugh. No one’s been promoted upstairs since Eddy Thawne got pulled from homicide eight months ago.



“How’s Eddy doing, ya heard?”



“Nah, I ain’t really heard a thing. Word’s that he’s been spending a lot of time with Hunter since the move. Not sure if they’re becoming buddies or if something big is going on up there.”



“What do you think could be going on? What do they even do up there?”



“Hell if I know. I think they get paid hundreds of dollars to chase fairies.” Owen scoffs at the officers upstairs before taking his seat at the cubical next door. “It’s the fuckin’ dream, I say.” The two sit in silence, Wally typing away at a report from yesterday, his fingers flying across his keyboard; Owen, on the other side, is obsessively sharpening pencils, preparing for a killer game of office darts.



“You think we’ll get a case today?” Wally asks, pushing his chair away from his desk to get a better view of Owen, who responds by tossing Wally a pencil and motioning for Wally to take a shot at the make-shift bullseye drawn a a piece of printer paper hanging on the cubical wall.



“Probably some lame-ass midnight break in. Nothing too exciting, I’m sure.” Wally takes aim and slings the pencil at the bullseye, missing the center by centimeters. “Lucky shot.” Owen cocks his arm back and lets one flying, perfectly hitting the bullseye and breaking the lead of the pencil, bouncing the body right back at him. “Thing’s like a boomerang.”



“I’m just so done with the crappy little break ins and the bullying cases. Why don’t they give us something real? Last time they gave us something real we nearly caught Sands.”



“Poor bastard.” Owen says as his continues to sharpen more pencils. Wally looks over to his desk as his phone begins to vibrate. He wheels himself over there and finds an incoming call from Captain Frye.



“Hello, this is Wally.” He answers.



“Wally, is Captain. We had a break-in last night and we need you and Mercer there pronto.” Wally let’s out a sigh, his head dropping a bit.



“Absolutely, Cap. Where is it?”








“What the fuck happened?” Cold stammers out, sitting alone in a booth at his favorite bar, “The Bar off Fourth”, and staring into his half-empty glass of scotch. His signature blue hoodie is still pulled tight around his ears while his blue sunglasses sit idle on the table.



“Maybe you have a mole?” A voice calls out from the other side of the booth, despite it being completely empty.



“That’s great, now I’m just fuckin’ crazy. Could this day get any worse?” Cold stares blankly at the empty seat across from him, his eyes tired and his jaw tight as ever.



“Maybe not. Maybe just smart enough to see what’s truly around you.” Slowly and strangely a man materializes before Cold’s eyes. First the black jacket that reaches to the floor, followed by a toothy grin without a body, next comes the crystal eye glass and finally his body wholly appears, top off with a long, strong top hat.



“Alright, what gives? Who the hell are you?” Cold slams back the last of his drink and yells out to the bartender, Jesse, to bring him another. She holds up one finger as she walks away. “Eh, she’ll be back soon enough.”



“So, who’s the mole, Mr. Snart?”



“Well I think the first question should be: how the hell do you know who I am?” Jesse puts down a cup at their table.



“Honey, your tab’s getting quite open. You and your friends need to pay it off. Soon.”



“Okay, okay,” Cold says, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He stops when a blade of light hits him in the eyes. He looks up and sees five hundred-dollar bills sitting on the table with a diamond watch.



“Keep the tip, my love. You’ve earned it.” Jesse quickly scoops up the money and runs back behind the counter.



“Okay, where the hell did the money and jewelry come from?”



“I saw that you might be a little short on change. Am I right?” Cold crosses his arm and turns his head away from the stranger. “It hasn’t been the same since Sands, has it?” Cold suddenly snaps away from his anger, pounding his fists on the table and looking the stranger in the eye.



“Don’t you dare say his fuckin’ name again, you hear me?”



“You have a rather dirty mouth, maybe you should think about cleaning that up. You catch more flies with honey that tar.”



“Whatever, I’m leaving.” Cold stands up and slams back his second drink, turning to leave the bar.



“Maybe it’s someone who has seen it all before? Turn back the sands of time, Mr. Snart, and think about who has seen it all before.” Without asking the stranger his name, Snart storms from the bar and away from the mysterious man in the top hat.








“Where are we even going? I think this place is way outside our precinct, Wally.” Owen sits idle in the passenger seat of Wally’s vintage 1998 Honda Civic Sedan, blue, riding down the highway without a clue where they’re headed.



“You know just as well as I do where we’re headed. It’s right there in the GPS. 870 E Lakeshore Avenue. Cap just said it was a break-in, no suspects yet. Exciting stuff, right?”



“Yeah, sure, I bet it’s some old lady whose cat set off her alarm.”



“Well, I’m not thinking so.”



“And why not, Mr. Positive?”



“You should look out my window.” Wally points as they round a corner onto Lakeshore Avenue, 1st Bank of Central City all that lays in their sights.



“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. We get a bank robbery? All to ourselves?!” Wally looks over at Owen and large smiles break across both of their faces.



“This is gonna be great.” Wally pulls into the parking lot, driving to the front to the “Reserved for Police Use Only” parking spaces, screeching to a halt and turning off his car.



“You really need a new car.”



“This is my baby. She gets me around faster than the speed of light.” Owen lets out a deep laugh and throws open his door, the two swaggering into the bank ready to prove themselves once again. All around them are gleaming silver walls, cheap chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, green rugs rolled out across the polished tile floor, green armchairs ready and awaiting all visitors.



“CCPD.” Owen says, holding up his badge. “Who’s in charge here?” Several employees tiptoe around the two officers, their eyes averting them like mice averting a cat. “Is anyone in charge here?”



“I am.” A beautiful young woman comes down the large marble staircase at the center of the room. “And excuse me, but I like to make an entrance.” Her brunette hair bobbles with every step down, her eyes stunning and always serious.



“And who are you, ma’am?” Wally blurts out, not taking the dramatic entrance to his liking.



“Sheila Covere. I’m the president of this branch.” Sheila finishes making her long trip down the stairs and shakes the hands of both officers. “What can I help you with?”



“Well, obviously we’re looking for information about the break-in.” Sheila lets out a boisterous laugh, shaking the building to its foundation.



“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, maybe we should have a talk in my office.” Sheila leads the two confused officers aside, sending them through large French doors and motioning them to sit in plush armchairs atop a black satin rug.



“Ma’am, this is a very nice office, but we had a report that—“



“That’s not something you can just say, okay, kid?” Sheila yells out at Wally, cutting him off and slamming her fists on the desk. “I have clients and costumers out there. But I also have over five million dollars missing from my safe. So obviously we have to find a way to balance this, yes?” She takes her hands off her desk and looks out her window at the small lake behind the building. “What, did they send a pair of rookies?”



“No ma’am, we are the department’s leading experts in break-ins and robberies.” Owen says, his left eye noticeably twitching.



“It doesn’t matter. What’ve you got?” She continues standing and looking out the window, her hair slightly off to the side like it’s in a never-ending breeze. The two officers look at each other confused and visibly annoyed.



“Ma’am, we don’t have anything. We are here to investigate.”



“Yes, I understand that officers. What questions do you have for me?”



“Well, that’s completely different. Let’s start with the video camera footage, any chance we can get a hold of that around the time of the break-in?”



“I would love too, but someone cut the power just after five. That’s a few hours without footage before and after the break-in. You’re more than welcome to get it though. Next question?”



“When was the last time that your staff checked the vault?”



“I personally checked the vault at 5:11 PM. All of the money was where it was supposed to be.”



“Okay then, how would someone get into the building?”



“There was a broken window on the second floor north side. We’ve already had it fixed, but you’re more than happy to go look at it.” Wally and Owen share another look. Why does this woman have all the answers?



“Okay, how would they have escape?”



“I have absolutely no idea.” The three sit in silence for a second as the officer write down every word she said. Why is the window already fixed? Why does the president of the bank inspect the money herself? What is actually going on here? “What the hell is going on here?” Sheila blurts out, her voice audibly angrier than it has been so far.



“What are you talking about ma’am?”



“Why the hell did ten cruisers just pull up to my bank with their lights blaring? Oh, even worse, here comes an armored van.” Sheila turns her attention away completely from the window and at the two cops. “What the hell did you two do?” Wally and Owen stand and turn around, looking out the large glass-paneled doors out at the lobby where dozens of uniformed officers are rushing in and clearing the bank. They don’t even have time to react before Sheila bursts out of the office and into the lobby, screaming and yelling at every officer who walks in the building. Wally and Owen just watch as officers usher out her clients and tellers and draw the yellow tape all across the bank. Suddenly, two men breeze through the door, each in a very fashionable brown trench coat leaking down to the floor. One of them, Detective Eddy Thawne, his brown hair and red eyes searching the room for something, his ever-present scowl curled across his face. The other is the famous Detective Barry Allen, his blonde hair stunningly bright against the bank lights. He stands there in his bowtie and absorbs the screams, the curses and the insults the Sheila throws at him and waits for just a moment until he knows she’s finished. He opens his mouth and says something back before looking over at his partner and asking something else. Eddy simply just points at the two officers standing alone in Sheila’s officer. Barry quickly marches past Sheila and through the glass-paneled doors into the bank president’s office.



“How are you boys doing today?” Barry asks, his voice oozing with confidence, his face plastered with an odd combination of a smile and a scowl.



“Just fine, Mr. Allen.” Wally stammers out, his notebook quickly closed and shoved in his pocket.



“Please, call me Barry.”



“Okay, Barry, what the hell is the deal with all of this?” Owen takes a step forward, his eyes brimming with anger and his mouth twitching and turning trying not to strike out at the prestigious detective.



“I was going to ask you the same thing. You two need to turnover whatever information you’ve obtained on this case and leave now. This is out of your jurisdiction.”



“Hold up, Captain Frye gave us specific orders. This is our case.” Wally now takes his own step forward, finding himself and defending his case.



“Funny, my orders came from Chief of Police Hunter Zolomon. Who do you think wins this one?”



“We aren’t leaving.” Owen turns and takes a seat in the chair just to prove his point. “Just like my boy said, this is our case.”



“Listen, fellows, I understand that you two are good at what you do, and what you do is investigating robberies and trespassing cases. But there is reason to believe that the Flash was here last night, which means this is taken out of your hands. This is a Speed Force case now.” Wally just stares at Barry, their eyes locked and not letting go. Finally, Wally lets out a deep sigh and motions to Owen.



“He’s right, Owen, this is their case. Let’s go before we make it worse.” Owen lets out an audible grunt and storms past Barry without a word. “Have a good day Barry.” Wally says, starting to walk by the detective only to be stopped when Barry grabs his arm.



“I think you’re forgetting something.” Barry says calmly with his other hand held out. Wally drops his head a bit and pulls his notebook from his pocket, handing it over to Barry. “Thank you. Have a good day.” Wally storms from the office as well, blowing straight past his old friend a partner Eddy Thawne without even a “hello.”







“What’s the final count?” Heat Wave blurts out, his body fidgeting and twitching all over the place.



“Will you calm down? We have to recount it still.” Cap says, throwing all of the money back into one bag as Mirror Master resets the dollar-counters.



“Sorry, Cap, I’m just nervous, this isn’t the score I was expecting.”



“Ye, it wasn’t the score any of us were expecting hothead. Apparently someone beat us to the bloody punch.”



“Any idea who it is?”



“Not a clue, and you better hush yourself, I think Cold is coming back. He’s probably found something he doesn’t like, that’d be my guess anyway.” The three return to silence as Cap pulls the dollar bills from his bag and hands them to Mirror Master one bunch at a time. They all stand in a rather large apartment, big glass windows overlooking the Gem City Bridge and the Missouri River. A small kitchen with updated appliances and a nice bar overlook a spacious entertaining space covered in black and white modern furniture. On a small coffee table sits three small machines for counting the cash.



“It looks like we landed forty-six thousand, eight-hundred and twelve dollars and eighty-four cents fellas.” Mirror Master says as he grabs the stacks of cash and pours it back into the bag, pouring the change in after it. “Not a bad fix, really.”



“So about ten grand after split?” Heat Wave stands up and walks towards the bag of money, ready to take his and leave.



“Calm down, hothead, we have to wait for Cold.”



“Why can’t we each just take our money and call it a day?” Before Heat Wave knows it, a small .22 caliber pistol is pointed squarely at his hand and sweat begins rolling down all over his body.



“Cause I bloody said so, aye mate?” Cap’s face is blanketed in a stone-cold expression, his chin sturdy and his body unmoving.



“O-okay, sure.” Heat Wave scrambles back to his seat and waits for Cap to holster his gun again.



“I don’t see what the hell Cold sees it you.”



“I see a perfect complement to my own powers, if you must know.” Cold slams through the door and the three react, each quickly pulling their guns and training them on the man in the blue hoodie. “Calm the hell down, will ya?” Cold slams the door shut and pushes past the three men heading for his room. “What was the count?”



“About forty-six big ones, Boss.”



“Good, good. Mirror Master, divvy it up. Cap, get in here with me.” Cold motions his hand and enters his room, shutting the door behind him. The three men exchange glances as Mirror Master reaches back into the bag to replace all the money on the table and Cap quickly makes his way to Cold’s room. Cap, again exchanging looks with his teammates, knocks on the door to ask permission to enter. “Get the fuck in here already.” Cap shrugs his shoulders and pushes through the door, closing it behind him. He walks into the large master bedroom, a king sized bed taking up a sizable chunk of the room, but other than that few amenities save a mini-fridge, a television and a small cell phone that hasn’t been turned on in weeks. To Cap’s left is an open closet door shining the only light in the room. Cold stands on a small ladder and shuffles around on the shelves at the top of the closet.



“Need any help?”



“No, I think I’ve got it.” Cold quickly descends the ladder, shutting the closet door behind him. In his hands is a large leather-bound book with leafed pages, pages falling off the spine, pages falling from the book.



“What exactly is that?”



“It’s the playbook.” Cap just stands in silence, waiting for further explanation. “It’s every robbery, case and capper I’ve ever worked and every one I plan on working before I retire. There’s a total of eight hundred and thirteen.”



“How many have you gotten through?”



“Tonight was supposed to be five eighty-four. It didn’t go so well. After every single case, I mark off and make notes in this book about how it went. Me and Sands made it perfect. We had everything planned out. If we did each and every single one of these, eventually we would be able to retire on a small island we owned with everything we had ever wanted. Not all of these are big, like tonight, just a means of getting some cash to fuel future projects.” Cold opens the cover of the book and flips to page five-hundred eighty-four. “See?” Cold asks, pointing to the large print at the top of the page reading “1st Bank of Central City”. Cap takes a closer look, seeing everything planned down to the new bank president overlooking the money before she left at night.



“But the Sheila woman was only bank president for the last four months, when did you make this?”



“Five and half years ago, right after Madrid. We planned everything. It took us about a year, but everything is here.”



“How did you know that she would become bank president?”



“We knew that Henry Castle, the old president, would retire due to his health in a few years. It took longer than expected, but Sheila Covere was his right-hand lady. There’s no way she wouldn’t get the job, whether she had to take everyone down to do it first or not.”



“And you had the lives of these people planned out that far in advance?”



“I used to be a profiler for the CCPD. This is what I do best.” Cold flips lazily through the previous pages. An art museum robbery in South Africa. A drug ring in Argentina. A counterfeit money program in Australia.



“Is that the same counterfeit money program you met me at?”



“The very same. Sands saw a lot in you, so we brought you aboard. Now you’ve almost been here the longest. You’ve seen your share of Rogues come and go in your two years.”



“Okay, well if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the point in showing me this?”



“Because I think whoever beat us to the punch this time knows about this book.”



“How’s that possible?”



“I don’t know, Cap. The only people who knew about this before tonight were me and Sands. And, well, you remember what happened to him.”



“Poor bastard.” The two take a moment of silence for their lost friends, bowing their heads and holding back long overdue tears.



“So someone found this book. Which means someone has been in this apartment. And there are only a handful of people who’ve ever been in this apartment.”



“Well who that’s been in this apartment would’ve had the opportunity to take all of the money before we managed to get to it?”



“If we narrow the field down to only people who have ever stepped foot in this apartment, that leaves only one man—“



“Mirror Master.” Cold just nods his head in silence as he slams shut the book.



“As much as I like the kid, there’s only one thing we can do if he robbed us blind.” Cold quickly returns the book to his closet, hiding it in the upper reaches of the area, and closes the closet door. “You sure you can handle this, Cap? This could go a long way to proving yourself ready for the big heists.” Cap just nods and draws his small pistol from its holster. The two walk slowly from Cold’s room into the spacious living area where Mirror Master and Heat Wave sit counting their money.



“Everything alright?” Mirror Master asks, his eyes never averting from the cash in hand.



“Where’s the cash, Sam?” Cold asks, his stunning blue eyes staring into Mirror Master’s soul. Cap raises the gun, training it on Mirror Master’s forehead.



“W-what the hell are you talking about?”



“Don’t fuck with me right now. I’m not in the mood. Give us the cash and we can talk about letting you walk.” Sam sets down the money and raises his hands to show he doesn’t have a weapon, standing slowly and unarmed.



“Listen, guys, I don’t think you understand what you’re asking.”



“You stole all the bloody money before you broke the window for us to come in. That’s why it took you so long to do it in the first place.” Cap moves slightly closer to Mirror Master, his gun unwavering.



“You think I robbed the safe? I was with you guys the whole time!”



“Shut the fuck up, Sam. You were in the bank for almost an hour before we were. You probably hid the money in that funky ass mirror-world of yours.” Suddenly a cold breeze floats through the room as Cold’s hand turns blue.



“Can’t we talk?”



“Give us the money, Sam.” Without another word, Sam reaches down and flips the coffee table onto Cap who misfires a shot straight to the ceiling. Cold blasts a ray of ice as Sam, who agilely ducks the beam and heads for the kitchen. “That’s a goddamn dead-end, Sam.” Sam turns around with a smile on his face. He pulls his gun and fires a shot in their general direction.



“It’s a shame, ‘cause I didn’t steal a damn thing.” Sam says as he ducks into the fridge and disappears into the mirror-world.



“Damnit!”



“You should really get all the shiny stuff dulled down, Boss.” Heat Wave calls out, sitting in a small wooden armchair next to the dining room table. Cold storms back into his room and leaves the two Rogues in the room in silence.



“I forgot you were even here.”







A sudden rainfall trickles lightly on Wally’s car, his radio just barely loud enough to compensate, his car playing a station that mixes together old Journey with OneRepublic and someone called The Weekend. Last week he heard Twenty-one Pilots. No one ever told him that the band only had three people. He pulls his nice white car into the driveway of his mammoth house, large gapping windows overlooking the street in a small subdivision just outside of Keystone City. He parks and turns off his car, starting the seemingly endless trek to his front door. He pushes open the abnormally large wooden front door and pushes into a whole new world, one completely apart from the rainstorm outside. Marvin Gaye plays softly in the background of a large living room smelling strongly of lavender and vanilla, small candles set out all across the room. What’s going on in here? Wally kicks off his shoes and looks around the house. “Iris? Dad?” He calls out to no answer. “You shouldn’t just leave candles on.” He bends down and blows out the candles turning away from the strange room and running upstairs to his own.



Four darkly-colored blue walls, a small Sporting KC poster hanging on his wall over his desk with a “2013 Champions” banner running across it. A neat laptop sits atop a black desk with books piled onto small shelves hanging from the wall and a twin extra-long bed pushed up against the corner. Wally puts down his stuff and takes a seat on his bed. “I really need to get out of here.” He looks wonderingly out his window, watching in the distance as cars float by one another on the freeway to-and-from Central City, the busiest city in America. Suddenly, a quick flash of lightning makes Wally cover his eyes, and when he reopens them a small envelope sits on his desk where previously there hadn’t been anything.



He jumps up from his bed from his bed and calls out again: “Iris? Dad?!” He calls out, still no answer. He rushes over to his window to see if someone is out there, and, to his surprise, he sees a man standing in his front yard, clad in scarlet and small lightning bolts throbbing around him standing there and waving up to Wally. “No way.” Wally quickly turns and reaches for his camera to get some evidence, but by the time he turns around the speedster is gone. “Why the hell was the Flash here?” Wally mumbles to himself as he reaches for the envelope that sits on his desk. He loosely inspects it, looking for any sign of corrosion or any clue that something might be hidden in there. Without any sign of harm, Barry peels back the leaf of the envelope and finds a small letter packed inside. He unfolds the try-folded paper and finds only a few simple words inscribed on it: “1833 E 29th Street. Penthouse.”



To Be Continued