Post by tec271939 on Apr 2, 2016 10:35:27 GMT -5
Speed Force #2: Going Rogue
“It just doesn’t add up,” Hunter Zoloman stares blankly at the computer screen on his desk, his mind wandering in a thousand different directions. On the screen in front of him is a sketch of the Flash, head-to-toe covered in red armor or some sort of suit, his face left blank because they still don’t have any leads on it.
“What doesn’t make since, Hunter?” Eddy asks, taking a seat across from his chief, a small box of Chinese food in his hand. Hunter immediately wrinkles his nose and looks carefully at the container Eddy is holding.
“You’re positive that’s safe to eat?” Eddy takes a bite out of his days old sesame chicken and swallows it casually.
“Pretty sure. With how cold it’s been outside, I think I can just use my car as a mobile refrigerator.” Eddy flashes a big toothy grin, stained with sesame chicken sauce. Hunter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“That cannot be sanitary.”
“Homeless Pete doesn’t seem to mind too much,” Eddy says, shrugging his shoulders and taking another bite.
“I don’t even want to know who Homeless, ah, homeless…”
“Pete. Homeless Pete.”
“Right, right.”
“He’s a Homeless man living in a little alley off 5th and Junction—“
“I said I didn’t want to know, Ed.” Hunter puts up a hand and refocuses his attention on the computer. Eddy shrugs his shoulders again and takes another sloppy bite.
“So, what doesn’t add up?” Hunter quickly turns his computer monitor to where Eddy can see the screen and look at the many, many notes input on the mysterious Flash, mostly by Barry Allen.
“If the research our department has done is right, he doesn’t actually produce electricity, he just produces a substance similar to it that we have yet to identify.”
“Right, thas nah somting new do, idit?” Eddy asks, trying to talk with food falling slowly out of his mouth.
“Close your mouth while you’re chewing, pig.” Hunter whips away food residue from his sleeves while Eddy whips away sauce from his lips.
“S-sorry, boss. So what’s so new about the Flash energy?”
“Nothing is new about the Flash energy, but in the dozen cases we’ve seen before, it has never—EVER—caused the cameras to short out.” Eddy suddenly sits a little straighter and looks a little harder at the computer screen. “And on top of that, he has never broken a window, or violently attacked unnamed security guards. Or stolen millions of dollars, for that matter.”
“So you…you don’t think the Flash did this?”
“I hate to say it, but I think the Flash might be the hero from this one.”
“But then who did it?” Hunter spins the monitor back towards himself and searches for something.
“Who do you think did it, boss?” Hunter spins the monitor back around and on it is the file for a tall, fierce, young bank president—Sheila Covere. “You really think so?”
“Let’s call it a pretty good hunch.” Hunter spins the monitor back around and stands up, taking his phone out of his pocket and begins to dial Barry’s number.
“Boss, can I ask you a question?” Eddy stands a whips the crumbs off his suit. Hunter turns around, his eyebrow raised and his eyes wide open.
“Everything OK, Ed?”
“I’m just kinda wondering why you’re working on this case. And why you’ve been working so closely with the Speed Force in general. You are supposed to be the Chief of Police after all, right?” A small smile breaks across Hunter’s face.
“Ya know, I’m personally invested in this operation. I want to see this department succeed. No matter the cost.”
“Okay dokay, boss. You gonna tell Barry the bad news? That the Flash might be the good guy?”
“Yeah, I’m giving him a call now.”
“Good, cause that kid cusses like at sailor at bad news.”
“So what’s the plan now, aye?” Cap takes a seat on the plush couch, holstering his gun and diverting his eyes to the money on the table.
“I’m fuckin’ Australian, not Canadian, mate. Get it right.”
“What’cha talkin’ ‘bout? I was just askin’ a question.” Heat Wave pulls his goggles off a looks at Cap as if he’s a three thousand piece puzzle.
“Ya said aye…ah forget about it, ya lug head.” Cap leans over and grabs a wad of cash on the table and begins counting it. “How much did we end up pullin’ in?”
“It’s hard to say.” Heat Wave stands up and mosies over to the fridge to look for another beer. Cap looks up, his own look now increasingly skeptical.
“What’do’ya mean ‘it’s hard to say’?” Heat Wave pulls out a tall bottle and sticks the cap between his teeth, yanking it off a squirting a little bit of the beer in his own face before letting out a manly laugh. “Heat Wave, what’do’ya mean?” Heat Wave turns his attention back to Cap, their eyes locking for a moment as Cap attempts to decode the chaotic thoughts in Heat Wave’s head.
“I mean, I didn’t count it. Mirror Master did.”
“He must’ve told you what your cut was though, right?”
“Yeah, but my memory ain’t what it used to be.” Heat Wave takes a seat on the plush couch adjacent to Cap and grabs his own wad of cash and begins counting. The two sit their counting in silence, Cap moving through bills like a teller and Heat Wave having to sort out in groups of five just to keep track. A cold breeze flows through the spacious living room as Cold comes bursting from his bedroom.
“Samuel Scudder?” Heat Wave and Cap both stop counting and look up at Cold, their chins tight and their hands clinched.
“Cold, who are you—“
“Mirror Master. He’s Samuel Scudder.” Heat Wave, staring at Cold in slight awe, looks away and goes back to counting money.
“Cool. How’s that supposed to help us pay our bills?” Cap closes his eyes and sets the money down on the table, putting his head in his hands and leaning down.
“You can’t do that, Cold.” Cap murmurs out, his words barely audible over the leaves of money shifting against each other in Heat Wave’s hands. His fists tighten and his body heaves upward, his muscles pumped and his teeth born for a fight. “You can’t do that, ya bloody bastard.” Cap throws his finger out, pointing at Cold as the tension subtly closes in on the room.
“The hell I can’t!” Cold slaps Cap’s hand down and squares up to him, the breath from his nose brushing against Cap’s face.
“We all made a goddamn agreement when we got into this. Names are off limits!” Cap reaches down for his holstered gun, preparing for added fare to the small battle brewing. Cold reaches out and grabs Caps hand, freezing into his side.
“I made an exception. You don’t double cross the Rogues. You double cross the Rogues, you die. No matter what.”
“That’s not a good fuckin’—“
“No. Matter. What.” Their eyes lock together, their statures unmoving, a breeze blowing in from an open window.
“We don’t even know he did it.”
“Who else would’ve?”
“I don’t know, but you tried to kill him without any proof.”
“I don’t need proof.”
“We don’t kill,” Cap pulls his arm away from Cold, tugging and ripping it from his side, destroying his jacket in the process. “Ever.”
“We kill to survive. That’s how it’s always been.” Cold takes a seat on the couch next to Heat Wave who still silently sits and counts the new cuts of the money, melding Mirror Master’s into the pot. Cap walks over to the sink and runs hot water over his hands trying to warm them up.
“I’m gonna go back to the bloody bank and figure out who actually did this.” Cap turns the water off and dries his hands with the small red towel hanging from the oven.
“You aren’t going anywhere near the bank.”
“Yes, Cold, I am,” Cap crosses the room and grabs a small pile of money, just a few hundred dollars. “I’m not going to crucify Mirror Master for no reason.”
“I’m coming with you then.” Cold says, standing from the couch and grabbing his own pile of money. “Heat Wave,” Cold turns to look at the oaf. “You get the rest of the money. Leave by nine.” Without another word the two Rogues disappear from the large apartment, cash in hand and mission in mind. Alone, Heat Wave sits, a wide smile brimming across his face.
“No freakin’ way.” He says as the piles of dollars ooze out of his hands.
“Wally!” Iris squeals as she runs through the door of the small coffee shop Deja Brew, on the corner of 1st and Alamosa, hurrying over to Wally and embracing him in a monster of a hug. Crushed under the powerful squeeze of his sister, Wally hugs back for a second or two before attempting to stop it. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” Iris let’s Wally go and sets her purse down, pushing her long, flowing red hair out of her face. “Where have you been?” Wally brushes his slightly dirty clothes off and takes a seat across from her.
“Funny, I’ve been home every night for the last few weeks. Where have you been?”
“I guess not crossing paths with you.” Iris says with a toothy smile and a wink.
“Guess so,” Wally looks up towards the menu trying to figure out exactly what he wants to drink. “Should I get vanilla or caramel today?”
“Car-mal.” Wally looks over at her, his face plastered with disdain.
“Which should I get?”
“Vanilla, it matches your personality.” The same grin on Iris’s face never seems to leave, not for the past twenty-one years that Wally has known her anyway.
“Ha, ha, very funny. I’m gonna go with French vanilla.” Wally says, sticking his tongue out and walking up to the counter to order.
“Thanks for choosing Deja Brew, how can I help you?”
“Nice, the new welcome sentence rhymes.” Wally tries to crack a joke with the cashier, but a small frown trickles in from the corners of the cashier’s mouth.
“I mean, I guess. I have to say it though.”
“I’m just kidding. Can I get a medium French vanilla latte and a medium caramel latte?” Wally pulls a ten out of his wallet to pay and looks back up at the menu realizing that that won’t leave a tip. He pulls two one-dollar bills from his wallet and reaches to put them in the tip jar.
“Car-mal.” Wally’s head snaps up and looks at the cashier, the same fake smile drawn across his features. Quickly, Wally throws the two dollars back in his wallet and places the ten lightly on the counter and walks away, unbeknownst the fake grin falling ever so slightly from the cashier’s face.
“So, Wally, tell me about the love life?” Iris, a reporter by nature, stands at the ready with pen and paper.
“You know you aren’t interviewing me, right?” Iris looks down at his pad with confused eyes.
“Oh.” She quickly slips the stuff back into her purse and moves all of her attention to her baby brother. “So tell me!”
“Nada. Too busy with work.”
“Of really? What are you working on now?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“I’m your sister.”
“You’re also a reporter.”
“But I’m a reporter who put her pen and paper away.”
“Doesn’t mean your mind isn’t sharp as a knife.”
“Fair enough.” Iris says with a smaller smile now on her face.
“Anyway, how’s your love life?” Wally closes his eyes to take a small sip of the coffee he ordered—heavenly as usual.
“Oh—um—you know.”
“I…I don’t think that I do.” Wally takes another sip and watches as his sister fumbles through a sip of her own coffee. “You okay, sis?”
“Yeah it’s just…it’s cold, you know?”
“It’s eighty-five degrees outside. After wind-chill.”
“I’m a girl, okay?!” Iris yells back, anger in her eyes daring Wally to challenge her.
“Sorry, I won’t ask again.” Iris takes another sip and clears her throat.
“Why did you wanna meet me here? We only meet here when something important happens.”
“Well, I actually need a favor from you.” Iris, clearly intrigued, pulls her pen and pad out once more to start jotting down details.
“Go on.”
“I know I just gave you shit for being a reporter, but I need some of that slimy skill.” The smile grows larger and larger on Iris’s face.
“Go on.”
“I met the Flash last night—“
“Shut the fuck up!” Iris screams as the coffee shop goes dead and all eyes turn to her. She looks around and twists awkwardly back in her seat. “Shut up.” She whispers across the table to Wally.
“Well, kind of. He was at our house.”
“What do you mean he was at our house?”
“I…I couldn’t be any more clear with what I said. The Flash was at our place of residence?”
“Smart ass.”
“I try.”
“Annnnyyyyway.”
“So the Flash was at our house, and he left me a note.”
“What did the note say?”
“1833 E 29th Street. Penthouse.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“No, but I think it has something to do with the case I was working before the Speed Force pulled the rug out.”
“And what do you want me to do with this?”
“Investigate?”
“Is it dangerous?”
“I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t.”
“You know me so well.” A smile breaks across Iris’s face wider than ever as she tucks the notebook away into her purse. “I’ll get right on this.” She says as she bounces away from the coffee shop, giddy with joy. Wally looks around the serene coffee shop he’s been coming to for years, takes a deep breath, and prays for his sister’s safety.
Sheila Covere stands idly by as the police comb every inch of the bank she’s worked her whole life to run, his eyes focused out the window, looking across the beautiful landscape of the mid-day Central City. Her arms crossed and her body held straight, nothing can break her. Not a thousand questions, not any accusations—nothing. “Sheila Covere?” A gruff voice calls out from behind her. She turns, her hair glistening in the sunlight, her eyes landing on a man in a black suit with an icy-blue tie, the same colored sunglasses covering his face. Next to him stands a tall man in a trench coat, a blue beanie pulled down over his ears.
“And who might you two be?” The first man with the blue tie reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a badge.
“Detective Leonard Snart, CCPD. I just have a few questions.” Sheila crosses the room quickly and grabs the badge out of the detective’s hands.
“I haven’t seen you two around here before.”
“We’re a special team. They’ve brought us in to close the case quickly.” She looks over the badge, holds it up to the light, moves it to see the hologram of the police badge symbol, and finally hands it back to the man.
“Alright, let’s have a seat.” She turns and motions towards the plush chairs as she walks towards them, smiles breaking across the two detectives’ faces. “I don’t know what I can tell you that I haven’t already said.” The three sit down, Snart taking off his sunglasses and placing them lightly on the table.
“We just want to verify some facts, if you don’t mind.” Snart pulls a small notebook from his jacket pocket and puts pen at the ready. Sheila nods her head, complying with the questions. “What’s your nightly routine when it comes to closing the bank after business hours?”
“Well, on the night in question, it was a slow night—“
“Ma’am, your normal, everyday routine for closing the bank. Regardless of the night.”
“Okay, after the bank closes and the tellers leave, I lock myself in the safe and count the cash, do some end of day paperwork, write my reports for the night, lock up and leave.”
“How long do you spend in the safe each night counting the money?”
“Usually about forty-five minutes.”
“And you never do this routine with someone else?”
“No, I wait for everyone else to leave the building.”
“Do you ever take breaks during this process?”
“Rarely, sometimes I take a bathroom break.”
“On the night in question, did you take a bathroom break or leave the safe for any reason at any time?”
“No.”
“And if the police have video footage of you leaving the safe for twenty-five minutes, would you maintain your story?” The three sit in silence as Sheila takes in the information that the new cops are giving her. A small bead of sweat drops off Sheila’s face, splashing hard against the floor.
“I would. I already know the police don’t have footage of anything after five fifteen that night.”
“When you left the safe at approximately five thirty-three that night, were you aware that there was someone in the safe with you?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Ma’am, is it true that on the night in question you were working with a member of the Rogues?”
“Who the hell are you two?”
“Could you please tell us the name of the Rogue that you were working with?”
“I’m done here.” Sheila stands up and straightens out her skirt walking quickly to the exit. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” Sheila storms down the stairs away from the questioning.
“Follow her, Cap.” Cap gives a thumbs up, stands up and glides out of the room following her.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard you say this, Hunter. The Flash is a criminal, and one of the worst ones I’ve ever dealt with.” Barry brushes past Hunter Zoloman and Eddy Thawne and takes a seat at his small desk, his eyes looking out across the two and his arms crossed. “What makes you think someone else did this? And Sheila Covere, nonetheless.” Barry pulls a thick case file from a drawer on his desk and slaps it down, opening it up and passing out a profile of the Flash to his partners. “What about this man screams ‘hero’ today?” The three seat silently as they all take in the convoluted case file of the Flash, Hunter and Eddy’s eyes diverting those of Barry’s. “Well?”
“Listen, Barry, you have to look at the evidence as it is. You know better than anyone you can’t just predetermine a criminal and find the evidence that backs that up.”
“I’m not predetermining the criminal, I’m going of the evidence in the past twelve cases we’ve all worked together.” Barry swings over to look at his small, sleek laptop and jots in a couple of numbers, pulling up a dozen case files. “The unsolved murder of Martha Blank, two more bank robberies, assault and battery of Alfred Jean, the murder of Richard Swift and I can go on.”
“Barry, none of those cases are actually solved. And none of them have any bearing on this current case.” Barry slams his laptop shut and turns to look at Hunter once again.
“Okay then, Hunter, tell me why you think Sheila Covere did it.”
“The Flash’s energy has never made security cameras short out before.”
“He didn’t want to be seen.”
“He’s never cared before.”
“Go on.” Barry waves him on and Hunter takes a deep breath, preparing for the next wave of objections.
“So that means, if he didn’t short out the cameras, then who did?”
“Who broke in through the window?”
“Sheila broke the window to look like someone broke in, and then covered it up the next morning.”
“What did Flash have to do with all of this?”
“When she broke the window it probably alerted him and he tried to stop her.”
“Or help her.”
“We do think it’s possible she had an accomplice, but we won’t know for sure until we get her.”
“Do we have enough evidence to get a warrant?”
“A warrant to track her, not to arrest her.”
“Do we have that warrant yet?”
“Came through a few minutes ago.”
“Let’s bring her down, and prove the Flash guilty. I’m going to go to the restroom.” Barry stands up and quietly walks back to the bathroom, pushing open the door and looking around, seeing that nobody is there. He turns the faucet on and lets the cool trickle of water run over his hands, steadily emblazoning to a warm, then hot, river. He splashes the water in his face, his eyes closing as he runs the water through his hair. In his mind, he sees the streak of lightning cutting across his living room, the red bolt blasting holes in his walls and knocking the lamps off tables.
“Mommy? Mommy! Mommy?!” He screams, running towards the red bolt. His mom was just there. He knows she was there. Where could she have gone? Why isn’t she there? As he gets closer and closer the red bolt speeds up into tornado like velocities, whipping around the furniture, flinging it against walls, cracking the glasses and splintering the wood. At the center of the red tornado, Barry can see only one face, her eyes filled terror, her sparkling, blue, beautiful eyes filled with absolute terror.
“Barry, run!”
“As fast as you can.” A voice calls out, distinctly a man’s voice, and Barry stares at his mother through the red tornado, tears rushing down from both of their eyes and, just for a second, a man clad in red armor appears behind his mother at the center of the red tornado, his blue eyes staring back at Barry. The man with the yellow lightning bolt on his chest puts one finger to his mouth, telling Barry not to say a word. But then, in a flash, the man disappears and the jarring sound of bones crunching rings silence in the room as Barry’s mother crumples to the floor, her body lifeless and Barry stands and runs, through his broken hallways and out his front door, down the street, across the roads and falls to his knees in a patch of grass looking out across the endless plain.
“Mommy…” He mutters, his body dropping as he sobs himself asleep in the night. “Mommy…Mommy…”
“Barry.” Barry’s eyes snap open and his head covered in water snaps up, flicking the water across the mirror, distorting the image of the strange man in an orange suit with a green hood, his yellow tainted smile stretching from cheek to cheek. “Are you okay, Barry?” A single tear trails down Barry’s face, his body still shivering from the coldness of his dream.
“Who are you?” Barry asks while turning around, finding nothing behind him.
“You can call me the man in the mirror.” Barry closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before turning around to confront the man in the mirror.
“How did you get in the mirror?”
“All in due time, Barry.”
“How do you know my name?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“What do you want to tell me?”
“Straight to the point, aren’t we?”
“I’m not going to ask again.”
“And what are you going to do if I don’t tell you.”
“Walk away.”
“Oh.”
“I figure I don’t know you, so you must want something from me. Spit it out.”
“Fine, fine—remember the bank robbery?” Barry suddenly stiffens up, his back straightening out and his eyes focusing on the man in the mirror. “I guess you do. I’m the one who disabled the cameras. And broke the window.”
“Okay, so you’re confessing your felonies to a cop?”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Is robbing three million dollars not a felony? Or am I not a cop?”
“Neither. I didn’t take the money. I just disabled the cameras and broke the window.”
“Who took the money? Was it the Flash?” The room is suddenly engulfed in laughter as the man in the mirror bursts out laughing at Barry’s question.
“The Flash? No! He’s the one who tried to stop us!”
“Then who’s the thief?”
“I haven’t the slightest clue.”
“Then what the hell are you trying to tell me?”
“Don’t get angry, or I won’t tell you.”
“Fine. May you please tell me whatever is on your mind?”
“Fine, fine. There are two fake police officers following Sheila Covere right now. Odds are they’re going to kill her when they find out who robbed the bank.”
“And why would she know?”
“You detectives suck. She was the only one in the bank when it was robbed!”
“Who are the officers?”
“I’ve told you too much already. Best of luck!” And with that, the man in the mirror fades into only a memory.
The bright twilight lights shine down on Sheila’s brightly lit features as she slowly meanders through the downtown streets of Central City, a shark-skin purse hanging from her shoulder and a Café au lait in her hand as she sips slowly on it. Just feet behind her is a large man, his muscles almost popping from his shirt, his eyes fixated on her from behind. She takes another sip of her coffee and then turns the corner onto Alamo Avenue. Her phone starts ringing. “Hello?” She utters in a whispered tone, cutting across the street just in front of a doughnut shop, taking another sip of her coffee.
“Do you have it?”
“I’ve got it with me right now.”
“I don’t see it.”
“I don’t see you.”
“Does anyone suspect you?”
“Some weird detective down at the precinct suspects me, but that’s all.” She cuts into a back alleyway, trying to lose anyone who might be following her, passing by rotten dumpsters and kicking aside bags of garbage and probably drugs.
“What was the detective’s name?” She cuts from one alley to the next, this one cleaner with small, battered bricks lining the walkspace and a portrait of a man holding up an emerald.
“Snart.” Click. The other side goes silent immediately after she says the name. “What the fuck—“
“Miss Covere, you’re under arrest.” Cap emerges from the shadows his thick muscles still threatening to protrude from his suit. Sheila whips around, her eyes focusing on the man from the bank.
“I have a strange feeling you aren’t a police officer.”
“I have a strange feeling that you’re carrying something pretty valuable in that bag of yours.”
“Ha. Smart boy. Who are you?”
“Name’s Cap. It’s short for Captain Boomerang.”
“Oh yeah? Why do they call you that?”
“Cause I always come back.”
“Come back from this!” Sheila quickly reaches into her purse and pulls out a small handgun, firing it twice at Cap. He’s able to move out of the way of the first bullet, but the second hits him squarely in the left shoulder, a sharp squeal emanating from the man.
“Come back from this.” A cool voice chimes in from behind Sheila as a wave of ice rushes over her feet.
“What the hell i-is t-this?” She stammers as her body begins fighting for heat.
“Ice.” Sheila turns her head to see the man standing behind her.
“Snart.” She raises her gun again, pointing it straight at Snart’s face as he flings another wave of ice at her, knocking the gun from her hand and freezing both her hands together.
“Who were you on the phone with, lassie?” Cap asks, rubbing his shoulder and moving to confiscate Sheila’s gun.
“Why the fuck do you hoodlums wanna know?”
“Cause that was our heist. That was supposed to be our money.”
“I’m not saying.”
“She’s got something in her purse boss.”
“Oh really?” Cold walks over to her shivering, cornered body and rips the purse from her shoulder. He opens it up and sees a glowing red ruby. When he reaches down to grab it, it burns his finger. “What is this?”
“Freeze, Central City Police Department!” Wally West yells as he runs around the corner, his gun aimed straight at the three criminals in the ally, Owen Mercer right on tale.
“I told you it’d be fun to investigate the doughnut store robbery, Wally.”
“Officers, these two are attacking me!”
“Put your hands up in the air. All of you! I’m not gonna ask again!” Cold slowly raises his hands in the air, the purse dangling from his thumb.
“Officers?” Wally and Owen slowly move closer, their guns still drawn and ready. “I always preferred, when you break onto the scene and want to arrest the bad guys, to yell—FREEZE!!!” Cold expels a massive wave of ice knocking the two officers on the ground and allowing the two Rogues to turn and run down the other side of the alley, only to be met by Detective Barry Allen.
“Freeze, this is the police!”
“Thank you!” Cold exclaims again, manufacturing a wall of ice between him and the police on the other side. “Up?” He asks Cap, looking at the only other direction out of the alley. He sets the purse down and slowly spins in a circle, starting low but making his way up, creating a spiral staircase of ice for Cap and himself to escape on. The quickly attempt to ascend the staircase but, suddenly, they see a Flash of red and hear a faint buzzing noise. “God dammit.”
“Hey fellas, how’s it going?” For just one second, the scene stops silent as the two Rogues, Sheila, Wally and Owen, and Barry Allen and Eddy Thawne stand shocked, getting their first close look at the elusive Flash. “I heard you like us to say freeze so—“
“Freeze, Flash, this is the CCPD! You are under arrest for many crimes, which will be listed at a later date!”
“I…that’s not how the law works, Barry my boy. I’m also not the bad guy here.” Barry’s gun is pointed at the man in the scarlet red armor, lightning jumping all around him.
“Freeze or I will shoot!”
“I remember it just like it was yesterday.” The Flash says while drooping his head a bit, disappearing and then reappearing with Barry’s gun dangling from his index finger. “Why don’t you two go quietly and make this easier on everyone involved?” Cold looks down at the two sets of cops beneath him, he looks around for any other escape roots, and then he looks back at Cap.
“You think we had a good run, Cap?”
“Yeah, I think so, Cold.” Cap points at the purse in Cold’s hands. “Just drop the purse on the ice, and let’s go.” A loud thud rings for a second as the heavy purse hits the ice and then, with everyone watching disappears.
“Well that’s a nice surprise.”
“Innit though?” Suddenly, the two Rogues are sucked into the reflective surface of the ice and disappear just as the purse did, leaving the officers standing there looking dumbfounded.
“How did that just happen?” Wally turns to ask Owen, standing up and reaching for his handcuffs for Sheila.
“This town gets weirder every fucking day.”
“He’s gone…” Barry mutters on the other side of the wall of ice, dropping to his knees as he looks up at the spot the Flash was at which is now empty and unoccupied. Eddy puts a hand on Barry’s shoulder as Barry punches the ground hard. “HE’S GONE!”
“It’s not too late, we can still find him.” Barry shakes off Eddy’s shoulder and stands up, walking away from the scene of the crime.
“We better fucking find him. This has gone on long enough.”
To Be Continued