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Chapter One - Eclipse “Carl, you got everything?” Asked the man. He was young, but smart, with a pouty face. He’d come to calling himself Salamander. Carl shifted, tapping one last string of code into the keyboard and pulling away. He grinned, chair spinning out in a flamboyant crescent. “Yes, yes I do.” He confirmed, snatching a shiny flat flashdrive from the side of the computer and flipping it through his fingers. The two of them shared a smile, hurriedly ducking out the door, Carl still flitting the skinny, million-dollar device between his thumb and index. They left in silent halls, shuffling passed unconscious guards and glitching cameras. Carl allowed himself a moment of adrenaline-marred bliss as freedom came into view. The pair cheered and clapped as they emerged onto the whizzing streets of Central, slapping each other on the back enthusiastically. Carl snickered, smirking as he began a huffed mantra he’d been brainwashing his partner with. “We are the Salamanders,” He sung, nudging his partner. Salamander ducked his head, smiling beneath his embarrassment as he finished the song. “And through every battle, or loss of tail, we will prevail.” They chuckled at their own idiocy, swaying with the rush of success as they walked further into the road. Carl’s foot caught the curb and he grinned. Now, everything he’d been working for fell into place, as his partner laughed. “Man, I can’t believe we robbed the legendary King Cloud, nobody’s ever gotten away with doing that! We’ll be legends ourselves!” Carl felt smug, watching as a slick black car pulled up before them. He turned to face Salamander, a slow satisfaction eating away at his features, his posture straightening into seriousness. As the man looked at him warily, gawking in confusion, he smoothed a hand over his lapel, hooking his finger around a wire to draw it out. He couldn’t help a sadistic fire blooming in his gut as Salamander realized the implication. “You’re right about that,” Said Carl, eyes flashing a deadly shade as the driver greeted him. “Nobody’s ever gotten away with it.” The driver hung up a radio by the chord, clearly containing a copy of the criminal's confession. Salamander was frozen in shock, a sudden franticness causing his eyes to flicker around, hoping. “Carl, how could you ?” He whined, pathically. It sounded like he actually felt betrayed. The man spat at him as cuffs were secured. Carl only smiled, tilting his head cockily to the side. “Be proud,” He said. “You’ve just been busted by Eclipse.” Salamander’s face grew pale, peering desperately at the cop guiding him into the car. “ Carl is Eclipse!? Carl? ” One of the cops chuckled, shaking his head at the criminal in pity. “Sorry dude, Carl was never real. You’ve been partnering with Central City’s best undercover cop.” The one temporarily referred to as Carl sat himself in the backseat, a smirk splitting his face, every glance from the criminal only widening it like a shining moon. They soon arrived at the CCPD, going their separate ways. The character of Carl fell away as soon as Salamander left his sight, into something more stoic. He became someone with an air of controlled chaos. He entered the Captain’s office, remaining silently still until the door had sealed itself. Then, it was just Eclipse and his employer. “Mission complete, Captain. Have you prepared another for me yet?” The man stood, gliding from his desk like a swan. His languid fingers curled around a pair of glasses, which he gracefully adorned so as to read the manila file which he’d taken from a drawer. “Always so eager.” Commented the man, tonelessly. He didn’t look up from the papers, though a small smile graced his lips. Eclipse took that as a cue, breaking down into the finicky, paranoid person he could only be around the Captain. The person who was always so used to being someone else. “Alright, Barry,” Began the Captain in a lilting voice. Using his nickname had become like a joke to the man, since it was only permitted while in this fifty-foot radius. So, while here, the Captain made sure to use it. “Let’s begin.”
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Chapter Two - Barry Allen
After the briefing, Barry had begun developing his role; one that could carry him until the moment of truth. He needed someone trustworthy and endearing. Someone who could pass for a criminal without seeming manipulative. Someone who could become the piece to a puzzle that nobody realized they’d needed. And someone worth the time of a criminal mastermind.
So, he established himself the character, and promised himself to practice it at least once, as he always did, before sending it for approval with the Captain. All he needed was a prompt, a place to go, people to meet, that would solidify his personality. His gaze fell upon a discarded newspaper strewn atop his desk. He snatched it, smirking. An event to celebrate the Particle Accelerator, both nerdy and classy,
perfect
.
He threw on what he thought his character might wear: men’s dark blue jeans, a belt tightened to the last loop, well-worn black dress shoes, an unironed black t-shirt, and a loose red bomber jacket. He slid a pair of glasses into his front-most pocket and tucked a finger camera into one of his inner layers. With an hour or so before the showing, he polished his role. He set up an ID, birth certificate, social security, a cover job, an apartment(safe house), and a couple of degrees. With everything finished, he emailed it for confirmation, to his Captain.
He was Samander Cain, a recent college graduate of twenty-four, an IT specialist who majored in Technological Science and Computer Engineering at Washington University, St. Louis. Nerd he was, he managed a certificate in Technological Analism. Using his new tech skills to procure a special guest invitation–really he just had access to most databases as an undercover cop–he decided to be fashionably late.
Crafting a scientific ID, he hooked it onto a slightly geeky Green Arrow lanyard. Sam, after all, had been the same name he’d used while gathering information on the recently returned Oliver Queen for Starling City’s police department. Since he hadn’t ever mentioned a last name there, he could borrow it as a snippet of background for his criminal resume. It would prove he could handle high-priority individuals such as the CCPD, SCPD, and even a billionaire vigilante. Of course, he wasn’t planning on telling anyone about Oliver’s nightly escapades.
Leaving out a suitcase of clothes for his time as Sam, he began his mental transformation into the character. He was glad to have a reference like Felicity Smoak, as she was similar to what he would need. Awkward, slightly clumsy, bubbly, but useful and loyal. With his new persona, he made his way to Star Labs.
The hall was bustling, people of all different types meandering through, waiting for the main event. Deciding Harrison Wells would be one of Sam’s role models, he stammered incoherently when he bumped into the man, a tad fanboy-ish.
“H-Hi. Sorry.” He stuttered, peering somewhat unbelievingly at Dr. Wells. The man straightened himself, chuckling, before extending a hand. Brushing his palms over his jacket, Sam shakily took the offered hand.
“Sam Cain, and I uh…already know who you are Dr. Wells.” He said. The man smiled warmly, almost creepily, at him. He didn’t seem bothered. Sam watched something flicker in Wells’ gaze then, and recognized it as relief. Sam had been expected.
An hungry fire danced in the man’s eyes, causing Sam to shift uncomfortably. He knew immediately that Wells wasn’t who he seemed. The man was an actor, like him. Except Eclipse never broke character, not even in the windows of his eyes. Sam quickly ducked his head, sweeping a hand through his hair to rest on the back of his neck, disguising the moment as a nervous tick.
“A pleasure, Mr.
Cain
.” Wells willed a fake brightness to his demeanor, hiding it all with a flex of his jaw. The doctor glanced to the podium, where an audience waited, looking back at Sam like he had to actually force himself to leave. Wells smoothed a hand over his chest, returning his suit to the color of liquid tar.
“Excuse me, Mr. Cain, but I think it may be time for my speech.” When he had gone, Barry puzzled over the man. Why had he been kept from presenting his life’s work by an unknown IT specialist? How did he know Sam, when Barry had just made the character today?
He put on a wavy, awkward smile as Wells padded onto the stage, beginning his speech, glancing over at Sam every minute or so. The scrutiny felt strange. Distraction in place, a thief took that moment as opportune, snatching someone’s laptop. Before he could think to remain masked as Sam, he was off after the criminal. After all, he’d always be a cop above everything else, and his mind had not become fully submerged in Sam’s character anyway.
So there he was, tackling a random guy in the alleyway of the most famous lab in Central City. As he brought a phone to his ear to call it in, the woman who’d been stolen from caught up. He grinned fanatically, an idea in his head.
He fumbled, giving the woman her laptop with a sheepish smile. She smiled at him, offering a hand.
“Iris West, thanks for um, you know.” She gestured subtly to the thief, who was still unconscious. Sam gave himself the tick, scratching a palm over the back of his neck before taking her hand.
“Sam Cain, and you’re welcome I guess.” Just then, the Captain picked up on the other side of the line.
“Trouble Allen?” He ducked shyly back from Iris, making sure it was obvious he’d taken up a conversation.
“Nah, just a lowlife thief, behind Star Labs. Want me to cuff ‘em?” The Captain hummed affirmation, and Barry retrieved the pair of cuffs he always kept when he wasn’t on an official operation. Iris started, slightly surprised, as he grinned, dangling them joyously before the crook. He covered the phone’s receiver, laughing at her.
“Friends in high places.” Right as he clicked them around the stranger’s wrists, he caught the Captain’s voice.
“And Allen, stop asking for approval. Consider any identity made by you confirmed.” Barry smirked. That’s how it’s always been. As Eclipse, the codename everyone knew him by, there wasn’t a character he couldn’t play if it was to expose a criminal. He tucked his phone back into his pants, and turned to Iris. She appeared thoroughly intrigued, possessing the eyes of a reporter.
“Are you a cop?” He huffed a laugh and waved her off.
“No, like I said, friends in high places.” Iris’s cheeks dimpled cutely and she thanked him, though gratitude was obviously the last thing on her mind. She looked down at her feet, smiling around her mussed hair.
“Could I bring you to coffee sometime, as thanks?” Sam grinned back shyly, taking the number she offered. He shrugged, ducking into the shadows.
“Sure, see you.” As soon as he was out of sight, Sam lifted from him, leaving a frazzled Barry. He’d just broken character! That never happened,
never
! A strained expression found itself upon his face as he walked along, trying to maintain a shred of dignity. He was a cop, he was a professional, and most importantly, he was Eclipse. This would not faze him.
He half-sprinted for his apartment, deciding that the sooner his cover was established, the safer it would be. He could afford to miss the activation of the Particle Accelerator, if it meant the cementing of his character.
The sky raged at him, violet and gray clawing through. Droplets of water split before him as the countdown echoed faintly from Star Labs. Barry tipped his chin up, letting the rain wash his face, plastering his hair to his skull. Harsh wind sent trash skittering through the streets as cars thinned.
Distantly, the last number was shouted, as all of Central City cheered. Yet, the storm angered on. Lightening spiderwebbed, arching over the tallest buildings like heavenly limbs. He leaned under the nearest telephone pole to watch as the area surrounding Star Labs became marred with smokey clouds, light sparking through them in touches of white.
Electric fire blazed above, charging into an eye. In one heavy strike, a bolt cracked open the Particle Accelerator, setting off a sonic explosion. A second lasted of utter silence as the city rocked and Star Labs disintegrated.
Shattering, spindles of lightning scattered, skittering through the electrical wires. Drawn together by their own energy, they traveled in one large beam, mercilessly surging for him. As it diffused into him, he burned and died, wondering if anyone would even realize Barry Allen ever existed in the first place.
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Chapter Three - Harrison Wells
Barry or Carl or Sam, he couldn’t completely recall, was wondering why death felt so…alive. He was in complete darkness, but it was more of a static, unstable gray, like the fuzz on an old TV. Like he was suspended in his last moment of life. Then, he felt much worse as a raucous beeping pounded his head, his heart fluttering so fast it seemed to disappear. He remembered surfacing into light, momentarily, and he knew it remained. Yet, he fell back into the black. Eventually, he gave in to the embrace of painless anesthesia, half-waking three more times before the shadows shaded into something more like sleep. When he broke the unending nothingness, he wasn’t in a hospital. Tubes and vials were stacked irregularly on one wall, while another housed shelves of electronics and thick books. There was a lack of that blinding unnatural light that came with being in a white room, instead replaced by the warm glow of a singular lamp. His body was heavy and slow, akin to a clay brick. He groaned in exhaustion, or pain, or maybe both, pulling himself back into the land of the living. If he hadn’t died, then he must have things to do. So finally, haltingly, he sat up. The room was empty with no windows. Nobody had waited by his bedside, which was to be expected since the Captain was a busy man. He grimaced, yanking the IV from his arm. If he wasn’t at a hospital, he wasn’t about to wait around for someone to clear him. As he wobbled from the gurney however, footsteps sounded from the hall. He cringed, a flinch causing his whole body to convulse in pain. Using a bookshelf as a cane, he made sure he was standing by the time a woman emerged from behind the door. Her long blonde hair was kept in a neat but loose ponytail, and she carried a clipboard lightly in her arms. As she swept over to him, another person followed, gliding forward silently on an advanced looking wheelchair. It was Harrison Wells. The doctor regarded him calmly, gesturing for him to return to the gurney. The woman just stood watching patiently. Barry sat. Wells talked. “Hello, Mr. Cain, glad to see you’ve woken up.” He said, politely. Barry’s brain ran a mile a minute, skull splitting with a rush of information. He was Barry Allen, undercover cop, Eclipse. His last character was one Samander Calvin Cain, technical analyst. Though strange that the Captain had apparently used that identity when discussing treatment with doctors, Barry wouldn’t be the best in the business if he couldn’t adapt. “Dr. Wells,” He said calmly. He thought Sam could be one of those types who became more serious at times like these. “Tell me everything.” Wells nodded, patting his knee in support. A rueful kind of smile had worked its way onto the man’s face. “Nine months ago, my Particle Accelerator exploded. You were one of the victims of the blast.” Barry’s head felt ready to burst. Too many things had happened, and he’d been gone for far too long. But, he breathed in deeply, calmly. It would all be solved soon enough with a visit to the Captain. He would go in, explain everything he remembered from the event, get caught up on what he’d missed, and ask why he was still Sam Cain. Then, he could get back to being someone else…anyone else. So, after promising Caitlin and Wells that he would return for true clearance, he found himself outside the station. It was practically brand new, the pieces that’d been wrecked in the explosion having been replaced, and many offices moved. At least it hadn’t been struck by lightning. He pushed his way through the doors, an onslaught of ambient chatter filling his ears. His headache returned. Squinting and fast-walking passed the workers, Barry made for the Captain’s office. Knocking once, loudly, he waited for the deep tone of confirmation, before stepping inside. Barry’s breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to calm down. The man behind the desk was not the Captain. Well, not his Captain. With wavy black hair and hints of stubble on his lip and chin, the man was much younger. Not to mention, the new name set up atop the desk: Captain David Singh. “Can I help you…sir?” Asked the man, looking right at him. And that was strange, as his Captain never looked at him directly. He was an off-hand type of person. “Where’s Captain Avalore?” Blurted Barry. He knew it was rude, and quite uncharastic, but he’d begun panicking…just a little. “He’s dead,” Said Singh, bluntly. He really was strangely direct. Barry didn’t like it. “Died nine months ago in the Particle Explosion. Why, did you need him for something?” Barry blinked, digesting. That’s why he was still Sam Cain…why he was stuck as Sam Cain. Well, he supposed he could attempt convincing this new Captain of his identity as Eclipse, but…he thought it might be better to produce proof first. Like, per say, results. Maybe being forgotten could come in handy. It was always better to go as deeply undercover as possible, and now he was literally someone else entirely. He was both trapped and free. Instead of saying anything, Barry met Singh’s gaze, nodding in acknowledgement. “I was one of his Citizen Informants. Expect me to come by once I obtain evidence. Tell me if you need anything” Said Barry, intonlessly. He made sure to stand straight, look professional. If this Captain was a direct sort of man, Barry could be one as well. “Could you tell me which cemetery Avalore was buried in?” The Captain took down his number, checked his ID, and gave him a copy of the address to Avalore’s plot. Then, Barry could leave. As he did, doors swinging closed behind him, the last of the light faded from his eyes. There was no plan, there was no catching up, there were no answers, and now, without the Captain, there was no Barry Allen.
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Chapter Four - Samander Cain
The cover job Barry had established for himself was out of his own office, a lucky break considering his nine month absence. Basically, he’d crafted a business in which clients could ask for certain work to be done, and he would assign a price estimation for the job. He got a third of the money before the job, and the rest after he’d completed it to the customer’s satisfaction. In other words, it was all individual commissions, his own business.
He assumed he’d get work like setting up home security, removing malevolent viruses, fixing electrical systems, and likewise. Plenty of people would be using the tip line as well, something he’d set up a few days ago when he realized a lot of people were idiots when it came to computers, idiots who were willing to pay money. So, he’d established the tip line, a number people had to pay three dollars for every minute they were talking. Surprisingly, it had become quite popular, and many people preferred that route rather than formally filing for an assignment from him. In fact, a week into his work, he hadn’t gotten a single contract, but he’d more than enough to pay rent.
He supposed it made sense, as nobody realized he was eager and quite willing to do illegal work, in fact almost desperate to. Also, there was the point that, even though Sam was clearly some sort of genius, he was still just out of college, a loose cannon of sorts. He hadn’t had any major clients to boost his reputation, so he wouldn’t get any until someone was absolutely desperate. Of course, Sam wasn’t that patient.
So, he had begun wandering the dark web incognito, behind walls of protection and anonymity, in order to establish himself as a hacker for hire. The endgame was to work exclusively for Snart, but he had to have the notoriety to get noticed first. So he’d made himself an online site he called the Alcove, which used an old line-by-line skip code to explain his qualifications and what he’d be willing to do. He expected it to take a while before anyone posed a question, but he’d drawn someone’s interest by the end of the night.
They’d replied in the same code, asking if he’d be willing to do some clean-up work regarding some instances of embezzlement. He decided not to seem too desperate, hoping for some extra cash if he waited, and didn’t answer until morning. Then, he asked the specifics and how much they were willing to pay.
His eyes widened considerably when they mentioned he’d get a profit-share deal, offering him twenty percent of whatever embezzlement he successfully covered. When he looked at the price of their first embezzlement, he debated not tipping off Singh. It wasn’t too much of a debate really…he didn’t dwell on it or anything. Well, he couldn’t tip off Singh yet anyway, since he needed to get the job under Snart first, so maybe a few paychecks wouldn’t hurt.
After he helped the mysterious person with four jobs, earning a shiny recommendation along with some hefty payments, the requests in his Alcove skyrocketed. People asked him to hack things, get rid of internet embarrassments, decrypt government files, obtain military intelligence, and many many more very illegal things. And they did not skimp on cash. Apparently, it was pretty damn hard to find a reliable computer specialist that didn’t steal your identity and all your bank accounts…or something.
Anyway, Sam spent quite a lot of time reading through his offers, searching for the kind of job that would look good on a resume for the Rogues. When he finally found one. It was interesting, the employer having added a confidentiality clause, stating that Sam would not, under any circumstance, expose information regarding the employer or it would end very badly for him. Sam suspected it probably meant the employer was one of those Meta-Humans.
He’d learned from the news, and a forum that contained leaked information, that Meta-Humans had risen from the Particle Explosion. Super beings each blessed with a unique power, most of them seemed to have capitalized on it by becoming criminals of sorts. He was hesitant to take the offer, as it certainly was dangerous, requiring a face-to-face for one thing, and having the possibility of ending in him as a pile of flesh in an alleyway. But, something struck this as the sort of thing,
the only sort of thing
, that would get the Rogues attention.
So, here he was, standing before the haunting entrance of an evicted house. It was more of a shack really, small and damaged by years of termite nests, rat tunnels, and roach hives making a home inside its walls. Now it was just dusty, with a sloped roof, as if it would fall at a moment's notice. Three strangers hung around the parking lot, his employers.
Two of them were inside a silver car, only sparing Sam a single disinterested glance before returning to whatever held their focus on the screens of their phones. The third person, he assumed the Meta and leader of the group, was leaning against a motorcycle, its kickstand stuck in a lump of weeds sprouting from the cement. The Meta frowned at Sam when he noticed him approaching, eyes raking over his skinny frame in clear disappointment.
“You’re the hacker?” Asked the Meta. He was a lithe man, lean muscle packed beneath a sleeveless black top and shredded skinny jeans. A thick belt hung from his waist, carrying the weight of several holsters. The largest was a handgun, while the others seemed to house knives, some sort of chain, and what looked to be an icepick.
“Yes,” Said Sam simply. It was best not to end up on his temporary boss’s bad side.
“What is it you need me to do?” The Meta’s dark hazelnut gaze turned lethal as a smirk twisted his lips.
“We’re going to steal from the CIA.”
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Chapter Five - James Neuberry
There was something acutely thrilling about standing on the other side of the law while entering a government building. They were outside the bureau, the place where they kept most of the old files and top secret information. It was likely the only place that could trace Sam back to his identity as Eclipse. And now, he was here, risking discovery, risking jail, to steal some data for his most recent employer. The Meta, James Neuberry, or Jim as his two followers preferred to call him, walked in with him. Casual, his eerie calmness was unsettling. It reminded Sam of the moment he had first met the guy, when he’d been leaning against his motorcycle patiently.
The guy’s stoic face flickered with the smallest hint of a smirk, clunky boots going tap, tap, tap over the polished marble floors. They’d made it through the doors already, a public one made of glass and silver. And now, they were breaching the first line of security. It was a metal detector, of course, secured to an unnecessarily long desk. Behind it sat an old man, fraying hair seeming to fall from his head when he looked up at them. “Business?” He asked. Jim brushed a strand of his greasy black curls behind his ear, smiling unnervingly pleasant. Sam stood quietly beside him, a silent companion. He followed orders well after all, and he had been ordered to ‘stand there and look pretty while I do the heavy lifting.’ Of course, his skills would become quite a bit more necessary for his employer once they got to the inner layers. “Research.” Answered Jim. His acting talent putting forth a charming, almost excitable smile. Really, Sam admired his ability at manipulation, and that was saying something. Jim flashed the badge Sam made for him, expert craftsmanship, displaying his qualifications as a criminology professor. It would get him to the Accords at least. After that, it’d be all Sam. The desk-minder nodded, his hair coming back to him. He gestured to a bin, somewhere to place their metal, before holding out his palm. “IDs please.” Handing over another piece of his handiwork, Sam shuffled uneventfully after Jim. He sent the old man one last polite nod, before grabbing their keys and belts from the bin. Then, they walked impossibly brisk through the halls. This was another desk, stationed by an officer, which x-rayed their person. Beyond it were the hallways Sam knew the bureau held their information meetings, and even sometimes hosted the FBI for a briefing. The officer stood taller and firmer, tensing just a slight, probably to appear as intimidating as possible, when they approached. Immediately, he snatched the IDs from their loose hands, eyes flickering over them like a cloudburst before peering half up in scrutiny. From his time among cops, Sam knew it was an intimidation tactic. The man was reading them, for nerves, for signals, habits. He was a tough man. Sam could respect that. Huffing, the officer’s gaze flickered to the machine, silently telling them to proceed. This time, they were slower, more careful with their posture and reactions. But, once more, they went forward unnoticed. Now, there were twists and turns. Down hallways of a shining gray slate flooring and alabaster walls. Until, at last, under the glaring sight of a small camera, they stopped before a door. Like all the doors here, it required a keycard, a code, and a wave to those watching. On the other side, lay the Accords. Stepping in to replace Jim at the head, Sam reached into his prop wallet to receive a card. Slyly, he pulled a slim device out with it, on the side protected from view of the gleaming lens. Jim stood at just the right spot to intrude upon any other, more hidden, lines of sight. Sticking the device to the side of the keypad, Sam slid in the blank card, watching as numbers slid into place along the digital display. He lifted his fingers to it, for performance benefit, and the door clicked open. Jim flew past him, through the shelves, tapping him on the shoulder with a half-moon grin. Sam soaked in his accomplishment for a moment, before following, disappearing into the maze of files, binders, and books. Between the rows, there was a strategic placing of cameras, so that security could remain watchful at every angle. Jim however, had gotten to the point he needed. Uncaring if his activities seemed suspicious, he flitted briskly to the back room, where a tinted glass sliding door stood, locked by manual, digital, and retinal means. Sam knew that’s where the bureau stowed their more secretive files, though he doubted anything above Army credentials had been stored there.Quickly now, with the eyes above likely on them, they stopped before their final barricade. Jim pulled a key from his pocket, though Sam knew it wasn’t to this lock, sending a fiery gaze Sam’s way. This is where the trouble really began. “I got the key, counting on your talents for the rest.” Said Jim, and Sam felt a shock course through him as the man revealed some aspect of his ability at last, allowing a flicker of green lightning-like energy coat the key, turning it successfully inside the lock. Sam took out his own keys, popping back the edge on one of them to reveal a pinprick knife. He shoved it into the seam of the code reader, prying the plastic apart to reveal a rainbow array of cords and chips. Sliding on a thin pair of rubber gloves he kept inside one of his inner pockets, Sam huddled close to the machine, attempting to stall the CIA’s reaction time however much he could by blocking immediate sight. His fingers sorted through a plethora of useless wires, before hooking upon his goal. A thin yellow string, it hid itself in the back of the case, pressed up against a power chip. Clipping it with his key knife, Sam dug something similar to a sim card, one he’d specially designed from plastic materials which had been coded with a bypass earlier, from his stash. He connected the wire one both ends, making sure the tiny threads of copper met in at least three points, so electricity was still conducted. Then, he scanned his eye, and had to catch himself from tumbling over, nothing but open space where the door had been. Almost in time with the moment their feet came through the other side, alarms blared overhead, security likely alerting the bureau to the clearly hacked retinal device, which was popped open with curls of colorful wire sticking out. Jim shivered, seemingly bursting with excited adrenaline, while Sam continued forward, down to a dark shelf of items. The more delicate objects were set on a long table in the corner, organized by case number behind a clunky old internet-free computer, like something one might use for faxing. “Hurry and retrieve it,” Said Jim, glancing about with urgent paranoia. “I’ll cover you.” Hating the feeling of having his back exposed to the man, Sam did as asked, eyes skimming over the rows. They slowed in the section filed under “O”, searching desperately for anything under the name October. A strange name, but now wasn’t the time to question his employer. His gaze landed on an odd kind of orb. Perfectly black, hidden behind other things and a large shadow from the shelf above, he almost missed it. But as soon as he saw it, he picked it up with both hands, shoving it under the protection of his jacket and tapping Jim in a signal of confirmation. Just as they stepped into a sprint back through the Accords, Sam heard the sound of pounding footsteps, followed by the jangle of keys, indicating the arrival of several members of security. Jim gestured for Sam to stay behind him, sporting a manic grin as he headed straight for the men, keeping to one of the shelves for cover. There were three people on them already, and Jim jumped out in front of the group, fearlessly, eyes igniting with an emerald glow. An aura of crackling energy poured from the man, and time seemed to stop for just a second, before the shelves surrounding him all burst away from him in one big explosion, catching the security in it’s grasp. With no time to admire the carnage, Sam navigated speedily through the destruction after Jim, his own heart beating with surprise and fear. He felt as if he were a ghost, absorbing the remnants of energy from Jim, so that he could float ever onward. They wound in a return route through the halls once more, lights flashing white and red above. Whenever a guard would catch up with them, Jim’s determination would send them flying, green fire licking a trail like a clairvoyant guide. Sam observed every use of the man’s ability: his control, his timing, his aim. It was something unexplainable, unbelievable, yet Sam knew it would prove true. He’d always known it was possible, after all. At last, they emerged into the lobby, old man having fled his post, the only thing standing in their way, the glass doors which had been sealed shut as a result of the lockdown. But Jim just barreled beautifully through them, shattering the glass and splintering the bars of metal like he was going for a stroll. Cars were waiting for them, police, FBI, and even one of the CIA’s own, filled with gun-wielding badges of all kinds, and Sam squashed his guilt down. He startled when Jim pulled him uncomfortably close, shielding them in a viridescent bubble. Bullets pinged off, ricocheting onto the road in long scratches. Radeos fizzed and burst, seemingly destroyed by whatever energy Jim produced. And for the first time, peering at the useless cops on the other side, Sam thought he might be a little grateful to be the criminal. They walked, irritatingly casually, up to Jim’s bike, mounting it without resistance. Then, they drove away. After Sam had given Jim the orb, which had glowed and swirled like a green blizzard once it was in his hands, he’d gotten paid. To finish the job, Sam expunged the recordings from the cameras, and Jim had placed a sloppy spit-kiss upon his neck cheekily. And that had been that. Now, Sam was back in his office, writing out a report he’d encrypt later, which would hopefully contain a large collection of evidence against those he’d helped as Sam, to be turned in as proof to Captain Singh. He was finishing up a list of observations regarding James Neuberry’s abilities, when a creaking knock shook his door. Closing the documents swiftly, Sam popped from his chair, wondering if he’d gotten his first in-person legal client at last. But, when he swung open the door, he had to repress a shiver, gaze flaring with recognition. It was Leonard Snart.