The dark clouds above the Twin Cities of Central and Keystone were full to bursting point, sagging with the weight of their contents. The cities themselves seemed to share the mood of the weather, dull and gloomy, with people hastening to and from their workplaces to avoid being caught in the inevitable showers. As Iris Allen brought her car through two massive and heavily guarded gateways, she could not help but wonder at how big the coming storm would be.
Truth be told, she was not entirely sure why she was here at the Iron Heights Penitentiary which housed the Twin Cities’ crooks, from small time to metahumans. She had been there months before to interrogate a monster named Savitar, but that was her only experience with the notorious institution. She had abruptly received a call two days ago from the Warden, Gregory Wolfe, asking her to come in for a… discussion. Suspicious, certainly, especially given that the warden was famed for his brutality and malevolence, and they had sparred on her previous visit, but simple journalistic curiosity got the better of her, and though Barry wasn’t entirely happy with it, he had long since learnt better than to argue with Iris.
“Ms Allen,” came a deep voice as she strode in the door- the Warden was waiting for him, his distinctive red eyes looking almost demonic as he stood in the dim light of the entrance hall. “I’m so glad you could make it- please, this way.” Silently, she followed him through the foreboding corridors down the route she had taken last time, into his office. He closed the door behind her after she stepped in, and as the metal clanged shut, she could not help but repress a shiver. “…A drink, perhaps?” He offered, but she shook her head, eyes narrowed.
“With respect, Warden, I don’t even know why you asked me here, so if we could get to the point…?” She spoke firmly without being insolent, arms folded. Wolfe dropped his feigned smile instantly.
“Very well then. To the point.” He sat down across the desk from her and carelessly flipped open a file. “Oh, but before I forget….. how is your husband, Ms Allen? His line of work is…. Dangerous, I understand?” Iris did not allow anything to display on her face, but her heart hammered faster. Did he…?
“Well, he is in the police, but forensics only. No field work, so there isn’t too much direct danger.” She gave him a polite smile, eager to change the subject. “Now….”
“Let us not play games, Ms Allen,” sneered Wolfe, dropping the charade entirely and leaning forwards. “Your husband is Barry Allen, and Barry Allen is the Flash- the Fastest Man Alive. Now…. What are we going to do about it?”
* * *
There are crooks, there are super-villains, and then there are the total psychos. I’ve come in contact with plenty of all three over the years, believe me, and I’ve always had a passing interest in how they got that way. How do you become a villain, why would anyone decide to go out one day and rob a bank or shoot a man? Some of the crooks I can understand, heck, even the psychos are mad, but it’s the costumed guys I try my hardest to get my head around. Wally always laughs at that- he has a more simple view, for him the bad guys are the bad guys and that’s that. In ways, that’s admirable, especially if it means he has a clear head when he’s out on the field, but that’s just not how I work. Captain Cold, Mirror Master…. I’ve looked into these guys, done my research. I know what makes them tick, I know why they became who they are. They see themselves as victims of society, and maybe they are, but that’s not an excuse. Some guys though… some guys just defy explanation.
Take the guy I’m fighting at this exact second- his name is Albert Desmond and he ran around for a while calling himself Mister Element. A nut, sure, but small-time. Now? He’s dressed in a green cloak and a hood, carrying what he claims to be the Philosopher’s Stone and seems Hell-bent on transforming Keystone’s water supply into sodium. Why, you may ask? I have no idea.
“I have no desire to fight you, Flash!” he shouts, but it’s kind of hard to take him seriously as I duck under a giant green energy blast he’s firing from the Stone. “I merely wish to conduct a scientific experiment!” I restrain the urge to throw back a quip about an experiment involving my fist and his face- who am I, Wally? Instead, I just about manage to avoid another blast, no doubt intended to turn my knees to Jell-o or something.
“I have an idea,” a familiar voice shouts. “What about an experiment to see how hard my fist needs to hit your face before you fall down?” Hmm. Wally’s here.
Ordinarily, fighting Doctor Alchemy shouldn’t be too hard. He’s a brilliant scientist, but twisted- he’s a murderer who sees himself as a gentleman and a genius, interested only in science. Nothing that should let him draw a bead on the Fastest Man Alive. Unfortunately, he decided to transform the street we’re standing in into Quicksand, and I’m too busy trying to dodge his attacks and getting civilians out of the way- all on totally uneven footing- to take him.
Wally runs as fast as he can through the mire, trying to get to Doc Alchemy but the quip alerted him. I see his eyes widen as Wally manages to make his way through all the gunk without being sucked down, but Desmond’s a fast thinker- he holds up the stone high in the air and shouts something. I throw open the door of a sinking car, spinning my arms rapidly into mini-tornadoes to push back the muck so I can grab the terrified pedestrian and run him onto the top of the nearest building- everyone’s out of the street now, and….
….I try to take a breath, and can’t. I stagger as I walk, and the second my feet stop moving, the sand reaches up to pull me down- the more I struggle, the faster I’m pulled down. I look round at Wally and see him only a foot or so from Desmond, trying to breathe as well. We exchange a silent glance of helplessness, and the sand’s grip is firming- if I could get my wits about me I could vibrate free but I’m not thinking straight, I need air. My ears become dimly aware of Desmond’s voice as he speaks, quite calmly- I never
have seen him lose his cool, I reflect.
“….like it when the oxygen in the air is converted to carbon monoxide, Flash? How does it feel- like drowning, perhaps? Your lungs slowly filling with poison? Or will the quicksand kill you first? I must admit….” I look up, hands around my throat, trying to take one last breath, heart hammering rapidly- I can’t… I can’t think, can’t…. “…I’m quite looking forward to dissecting the Fastest Man Alive,”
* * *
“This is stupid,” whispered Mark Mardon. “James, I don’t think….”
“Exactly!” James Jesse replied merrily. “And let’s keep it that way- you do the magic and leave the thinking to your old pal the Trickster!”
Weather Wizard and Trickster, the two rejected Rogues, lay flat in a small ditch on a hillside outside Central City. Mardon was uncertain, as he had been about this plan since the beginning, but Jesse continued with cocky self-assurance, even whistling quietly to himself. Everything had been planned, Jesse had assured him, and it would all work out. All Mardon wanted at this stage was his girl and the child she carried- but life was never that simple. Lisa Snart- also known as Golden Glider- was in a coma and he was a wanted criminal. With money, Mark thought, he could get her the best treatment in the world, could get her out, could get the coma…. With money.
“After we do this,” James whispered to him. “It’s paradise, Marky-boy! We get revenge, and money, and do it all without crossing Flasher! Perfect!” With that, he leapt out of the ditch and from his large- seemingly endless- bag of tricks, he produced the plan that Mark had stolen last week- the plan to the small mansion on the outskirts of the city, right beside the prison- the home of Iron Heights warden Gregory Wolfe. Wolfe was at work now, and though the mansion had very tight security, Trickster was confident. “…If you’d be so kind?” he asked Mark, who nodded. After a few seconds of concentration, his eyes sparked, and the clouds overhead erupted in a sudden torrential downpour. “And here….we….go!” murmured James. It took less than a minute before Mark waved the wand in his hand and a bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky to slash into an aerial on the roof. Suddenly, all lights in the house- and security systems- cut to black.
Without needing to be told, Mark grabbed James and flew him over the outer wall of the mansion, towards the main building, as James withdrew a small planted bomb from his belt for the door. It was all so simple- they would break in and steal the private fortune of the warden himself, as well as leverage on him if they could get it- a little blackmail could go along way with a powerful man’s dirty secrets, and if they could find proof of the more illicit activities of the prison, the warden would have no choice but to agree to their demands. Money, as much as James could want, and revenge on the famously cruel warden, showing him who
really controlled these cities. Yes, thought James, one last job and then…. Paradise.
* * *
In a dingy, deserted back alley of Central City, a forlorn figure wandered, aimlessly stumbling around, eyes rolling. He was muttering under his breath- not words, but gibberish, and every so often he punctuated it with a loud chuckle. He had been out there for months now, he knew, or at least, he thought he knew, but it didn’t matter. Who cared, really? Once upon a time, he thought, he had been someone, he had been important, but that was long ago and his recollections, like the rest of his mind, were hazy at best. Only a single thought was there, drilled deeply into his brain, something he kept repeating over and over again until he was thinking it at all times, until it drove him. Cold. Must kill Cold. Kill him. Revenge. Must kill Cold.
“Hey,” He looked up suddenly and saw two men approaching him, both in heavy jackets, one with a tattoo across his forehead, his friend grinning like a lunatic. “…Nice outfit,” He sniggered, looking up and down at the newcomer’s striped jumpsuit.
“Cold… Cold…. Kill him…” He mumbled, but the men could not hear him and exchanged a look- this guy didn’t look as though he had much on him, but you never knew. Besides, a guy dressed like this? He was asking for it. The first man jerked his head and his buddy ran forwards, smashing the strangely dressed man in the face. He fell back, appearing bewildered- mad, it looked like- and touched his jaw where blood came out, not comprehending what was happening. The second man hit him again, and again, and the first man approached, laughing, producing a pistol from his jacket.
“You’re down here now, freak, not up top with the rest of your nancy boy dress wearing pals!.” And suddenly, the strange man’s eyes opened widely, and for just a second, he was aware.
“Up top….” He murmured. “T…tt…top… And then, inexplicably, he spun on the spot, spun into almost a miniature tornado, picking up both of the stunned men and hurling them violently to either side of the alley where they crashed unconscious, as the striped man spun forwards to stagger out of it with both fists clenched. “N….no-one….” He stammered. “No-one tops the Top!”
* * *
I’m slumping- I want to make it over to Desmond, to shut him down, to get him to change the air back, but I can’t, I’m already starting to see spots. I can dimly hear him laughing- somewhere in my mind, something is telling me that the transfer of sound should be difficult through oxygen-less air, but that is frankly the least of my worries at the moment. If I could just shunt into speed mode…. I can make it to him, can punch him out in less than a second… but…. I… I try, and it’s… it’s not… I…
There’s a sudden buzz of heat and, just as I fall forward to my knees, I see something blow past in front of me- two things, in fact.
“You really think we wouldn’t notice that you have to breathe
yourself, Desmond?” Johnny Quick shakes his head slowly, both his hands grasping the now outraged super-villain by the neck. Of course- Desmond couldn’t have deprived the entire street of oxygen, he had to leave at least a bubble around himself! “What do you reckon, Max?”
“I reckon this man’s wondering whether he can take out both of us before we can put him out of commission completely. There’s another blur of light past my eyes- I hope they hurry the hell up, because I can already feel unconsciousness straining on me, my lungs gasping, my attention drifting and….
“Personally, I’m willing to bet he can’t take
three.” Jay Garrick raises his fist towards Alchemy. Reluctantly, with a scowl on his face, Desmond flinches away from the attack and raises his Philosopher’s Stone- which, a split second later, is sitting in Max’s hand . I feel sweet, sweet air flow back into my body and just sit for a few seconds, taking deep, shuddering gasps.
“It is fools like you who stand in the way of mankind’s progression as a species!” sneers the villain angrily, his eyes fixated on the Stone. “Go on then, lock me up as you always do. At least I shall have plenty of time to pursue my readings.”
“While you’re there, remind the others not to be as stupid as you were, Desmond,” Jay shakes his head with a sigh. “When there were
three Flashes, it was stupid. Now? You don’t stand a chance.” As Jay disappears to bring Desmond to Iron Heights, I approach the others with a nod, shoulders still heaving as I take in air- Wally’s a few steps behind me.
“Thanks for the assist,” I nod between breathes, but they shrug the thanks off.
“Jay always soon you had loons, Barry, but I never figured you had this many,” Johnny observes, with a half smile. “And not one of them can stand up to the five of us working in tandem.” I nod, smiling myself in spite of all the things that have gone wrong lately- even the rain can’t spoil my mood. Finally, after all the crap that’s been building over the last few months, with the attacks on my family and what happened to Bruce, things are looking up- Johnny’s out of retirement, Max is helping us out even as he reacquaints himself with the world, Carrie will soon be born… With
five speedsters working in tandem, Desmond’s the latest in a dozen or so villains to go down lately- none of these bad guys pose a threat to the Twin Cities anymore. I know the cloud is passing.
But then, another voice whispers in my head, given some of the guys I fight, I should know better than anyone just how fast the weather can change.
* * *
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Iris spoke, her expression confused.
“Warden, I’m afraid I have no idea what….”
“Dispense with the pretence, Ms Allen, it is unbecoming,” retaliated the Warden, looking more demonic than ever as his eyes seemed to glow. “I know your husband is the…. So-called ‘scarlet speedster’, the famed ‘saviour of Keystone’.” He sneered each word, and Iris pursed her lips.
He can’t prove anything, she told herself.
He wants you to confirm it, he… “…Very well,” sighed the Warden, and he spun around his computer monitor and keyed something into it. A video played- with a start, Iris recognised herself talking to Savitar, from weeks ago.
“….my husband, the Flash…” Her face paled as she comprehended the magnitude of what they faced. It was irrefutable- the rest of the video, and Savitar’s reaction, would confirm it. And after that it would be child’s play- compare eyes, note their association with the Garricks…. Irrefutable.
“Mister Wolfe,” she sat forwards in her chair, hands clasped. “…The Flash is a hero to the people of these cities, and I hope you wouldn’t compromise….”
“I?” His lip curled in derision. “I wouldn’t dream of compromising these cities, Madam. Your husband does enough of that.” And now, Iris suspected, they came to the truth of why he had summoned her. “….Always parading around, stealing the glory, from his
moral high horse,” Wolfe was pacing furiously now. “He puts away criminals, I have no problem with that- but he dares think himself
better than us, as though he makes our security forces and our prisons obsolete. And he thinks these…
criminals can be ‘rehabilitated’, as though such a thing is possible, he dares preach about ‘rights’ and about how these monsters should be stored….” He slammed a fist down on the table, and she saw anger and a kind of nervous glee mixed on his face.
He’s insane, she thought, expression taut.
Deranged. “I would not compromise your husband, madam, but he compromises these cities, and his dangerous ideas are a bad influence.” He paused for a few seconds, and then looked down at her stomach pointedly. “How long?” He asked. She knew at once what he meant, instinctively placing her hands over her belly as though to protect little Carrie from him.
“…A month,” She breathed. His eyebrows rose, as she had expected- it was early, indeed she did not look eight months pregnant by any means. But she was not going to explain to him that this pregnancy was going faster than it should, that it was Jay who had calculated how long it would be- because the pregnancy had been accelerated, and they feared the baby shared her father’s abilities. He needed to know none of that, and he did not ask, merely nodding after a few seconds- perhaps he had guessed it anyway.
“Very well then. You have…. I shall be charitable and say until a week after the baby is born, to leave my cities and go elsewhere. If you’re still here after that time…. Well….” He smiled and glanced at the footage on the screen. “….Security is such a fragile thing…. It’s so easy for a tape to slip out, for a little bit of information to escape…” Iris stared at him coldly, hating him in that moment, but she did not speak- she would save her anger, save it for another time. She instead stood, clutching her handbag, and turned for the exit without a word.
“….I have made copies of the tape, and stored them in secure locations, so please don’t think you can destroy my evidence,” He warned as she walked. “Thirty-Three days, Ms Allen.” As she strode out, she forced herself not to turn as a wide smile came to his face and he tapped his baton against his other hand. “…These are
my cities now….” He murmured, and then turned and closed the door.
* * *
The two Rogues whistled as they made their way through Wolfe’s private study. The Warden was wealthy, everyone knew that, but he certainly didn’t advertise it. Everything was plain, usually black- there was little opulent or decadent about his house- it was as unassuming as a mansion could be. A single polished desk, an old bookcase with books worn from constant use and several portraits were the only furnishings to the office, besides a rug which had been meticulously laid in the exact centre of the floor. The desk, of course, was completely clean, everything neatly filed away, no doubt. James was beginning to get an impression of exactly what the Warden was like.
“Petulant old jackass,” muttered the Trickster. “Where the hell would someone like that store his private safe? Damn blueprints didn’t have it on them.”
“In a bank vault?” Mark suggested drily. He crossed to the bookcase, idly looking down it- they were in no hurry. The security systems were totally out, and Wolfe was a man of painstaking regularity, he would not leave work until exactly half past ten that night. Man had good taste in literature though…. Wilde, Joyce, Twain…. For a moment, Mark remembered his own younger days, when he could indulge in such simple pleasures, but he was distracted by a triumphant call from Jesse.
“AHA!” He lowered his surprisingly effective X-ray Specs back into his bag of tricks, and pumped one fist into the air with childish glee. “Behind a portrait? How…. Oldschool.” With relish, he ripped the portrait from the wall- it was heavier than he had thought and he nearly toppled, but managed to heave it aside. After all, they
wanted Wolfe to know they’d been here. “Marky-boy, you just watch,” he crowed. “Not only will there be as much money as you could ever want, but more than enough to blackmail us our way to paradise!” He pulled a tiny green ball out of his bag and stuck it beside the safe door, before turning and diving for cover, a move Mardon swiftly copied.
Seconds later, there was a loud crack which sounded suspiciously like a fart, and simultaneously, the door of the safe exploded. Mardon was left with a lasting impression of a
lot of dust and a putrid smell.
A stink bomb? He thought with a shake of his head.
Really? How far you’ve fallen, Mark Mardon…“And now….” Trickster leapt up eagerly, looking into the safe. “We see what….” But his delight was suddenly replaced with a frown as he plucked out the lone content of the safe. “Where’s all the rich? The jewels? The codes to his bank vault!? …And what the hell is a
DVD doing in here?”
* * *
“Hey, hon,” I call as I hear the door open, not bothering to look up. I’m working fast- I only have a limited amount of time before everything is ruined. I had expected her back around now, of course, but thanks to that creep Desmond I got started later than I’d hoped to, so it’s not quite ready yet. Still, I can do more work in the blink of a second than most people can do in an hour, and as long as the main stuff’s done, I can finish it in time. I race to finish before she can turn into the kitchen and find….
“Taa-daaa!” I say with a flourish, as Iris walks into the kitchen to see a full, cooked meal- chicken, her favourite- sitting ready for her on the table. She has a cloudy expression as she steps in, but it’s immediately replaced with one of shock, then a little bemusement, and then, much to my annoyance… a hint of mirth.
“Barry… wow, it’s… what’s the occasion?”
“It needs to be an occasion for me to cook for my gal?” I ask her innocently, with a touch of false outrage on my face for good measure.
“…Barry, it needs to be an occasion for you to set foot in the kitchen for more than the eight seconds it takes you to eat your dinner on an average night.”
“Ten!”
“Eight, Barry. I time it, you know.” I shake my head and let out a deep sigh.
“Oh, fine then. We’ll just say that I decided to save you a little trouble. After all, you are soon to be a Mommy of two,” I grin down at her and she returns it, with a slight shake of her head before settling into her chair, as I move to join her and a thought suddenly strikes me.
“Oh, and hey, before I forget- what were you called out about?” I ask, but before she can reply, my beeper goes off- not the League pager, but the one Jay gave me for Twin Cities business. “Hold that thought!” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes a little, but she understands absolutely as I race out the door.
* * *
“Barry,” Jay nods to me, as do Johnny and Max, as I arrive at the door of Jay’s house. All three men have gathered on his front porch, with vaguely grave expressions. “Sorry to call you away….”
“It’s not a problem,” I shake my head, looking between them. “…Is something wrong?”
“Not wrong as such….” Johnny pauses, biting his lip for a second, and then continues. “I was just telling Jay here, Max and I have been talking… quite a lot, actually.” I find that hard to believe, given how reserved Max has been, but given how much he warmed up after that desert expedition, I guess anything’s possible. “And, well…”
“Not that it hasn’t been fun here… especially with Wally and everything,” Max says slowly. “But I’d like to take some time out. I haven’t had much of a chance to think since I got back, and that trip out to Ec… out to that valley, it made me think. About the things I had, the things I lost, the things I miss. And I want to move on, want to move into today…”
“…But you want to say goodbye to yesterday first,” I nod, realising where he’s going with it. “And Johnny would like to go with you, to help you rediscover your past, find closure…. of course, Max, you know we don’t mind in the slightest.”
“That’s just what I said,” nods Jay. “You’re like family to us- both of you- and you do whatever you think you. The Twin Cities will survive without you for a few days!”
Right, I think, as Max and Johnny keep talking.
Of course they will, they have before. Jay, Wally and I have it covered. We’ll be fine. So why is it, I think, that it doesn’t feel that way? Why do I suddenly wish, despite my words, that Johnny and Max were sticking around? Because I know, deep down I know, that Thawne isn’t done with his attacks on my family. And I can’t help but feel just a little bit more isolated than I did five minutes ago.
* * *
I blaze back into the kitchen at lightning speed, my face maybe just a bit more troubled than when I went out, but I try to be cheerful- for Iris’ sake after all. She’s turned the radio on, and I hear the familiar strains of Sam Cooke coming from it.
“It’s been a long… a long time comin’…
…but I know…
…A change gonna come…Oh yes it will.”“What was it? Another villain attack?” She asks- she doesn’t seem too worried, and she has no reason to be, after all. Iris knows I can handle most threats here alone, let alone with all the others.
“Not quite,” I shake my head. “Johnny and Max are going to be taking some time out so that Max can adjust to things, can look around more to find out what happened to things from his own time, all that… but I assured them that Jay, Wally and I can handle things here. Even between the League, Titans and the Society, there’s always at least one of us here to watch things, after all.” I see a brief flicker of concern on her face, but it’s quickly smoothed over. God, I love her. If I say its okay, she accepts it. It’s not some macho man thing, not that whatever the man says goes or any crap like that. It’s just that she loves me, and she trusts me in a heartbeat- and I’d believe her in just such a situation. Which is why I feel awful for lying to her, because I still know that things aren’t going to be okay at all. And that feeling in my gut… I’ve learnt to trust it as I would my own eyes. “Oh, hey,” I try to distract from that. “You never told me what you were called out for…?” Iris hesitates for just a second, her head bowed, dipping to eat her food.
There been times that I thought I couldn't last for long…
But now I think I'm able to carry on… “….Nothing, Barry,” She says at last. “It was nothing.” And I believe her, because I know she’d never lie to me, the way I might have just done to her.
It’s been a long… a long time comin’…
…but I know… I dip my own fork into my still-slightly-almost-not-quite-warm food begin eating, and silence reigns over our table, except for the radio, still blaring it’s song, and I try not to think of the days to come.
…Change gonna come…oh yes it will….” * * *
“Got it right here,” Mardon nodded, a grim smile on his face as he scrolled down the webpage. “She’s a reporter, he ain’t exactly a secret in Keystone either, wasn’t hard.”
“Man oh man oh man,” Jesse chuckled, rewinding the television so he could watch it again. “Talk about lucking out.”
“….my husband, the Flash.” He froze the video on the face of Iris Allen as she talked to the Warden. Doubtless he had thought his little security tape would be safe here in the house, like the idiot he was. And to think Jesse had first thought this DVD would turn out to be worthless!
“What’s his name then?” He called out, staring intensely at the woman who was the wife of his greatest foe, relishing the moment to come.
“Barry Allen, police detective,” Mardon read out, saying the words with wonder. Finally, after all these years….
“Barry Allen,” Jesse repeated quietly. “Well then, guess we have one last score to settle before we leave town. Don’t we, Flasher….?” He grinned at the lady again-
and, he realised suddenly as he took in the other words they were saying, She’s pregnant. “It was a nice race, but we know who you are now. We know who you love. We know where you live.” He kept murmuring, savouring each word, his smile widening. “…And every race has to come to an end.”
* * *
The Pipeline in Iron Heights at night bore little difference from the Pipeline during the day. There were no windows, no light could penetrate the cavernous underground labyrinth save the dull orange radiance of the ceiling. After a few weeks in the Heights, prisoners lost all track of time entirely, as everything faded into one- tiny, rat-infested cells with scant comfort, the only human contact the thickset, menacing guards who delivered meals and made regular patrols. The pipeline was nightmarish, illegal by all rights, but none outside of the Heights knew how bad it had become, and when visits were made, the prisoners were moved to more comfortable cells to give the appearance of humanity. Not that it mattered much- the only people who visited the criminals on the Pipeline were police on official business.
So it came as quite a surprise to the occupant of Cell MW42 when a bright golden flash of light illuminated his cell- not the dim artificial light of the prisons, but a bright, shining beacon. The masked figure within was still in full costume- super-criminals in Iron Heights wore their costume so that the guards knew that if they saw them loose, they were to shoot to kill. His restraints prevented him from accessing his full array of powers, but his fists balled automatically as the light appeared. Then he saw the two figures who appeared, and bowed his head, smiling.
“Sir… I knew you’d come.”
Eobard Thawne gave a veiled glance to the caped form of Abra Kadabra beside him before restoring his attention to the bowing figure. “You have been waiting for me?”
“Forgive me, sir," The figure grovelled. “Forgive me for letting you down, for failing to destroy the pretender…”
“You may have your chance at redemption,” sneered Kadabra. “But we must go swiftly- I have stopped time only for a single minute.”
“Come, Savitar,” smiled Thawne, eyes gleaming. He turned to Kadabra. “Grodd is in place, the Savitars are ready, you and I have our plan, and our…. Assets have infiltrated the target as we hoped.” He folded his arms, face expressionless, betraying no hint of the triumph in his words. “It is time.”
