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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:16:38 GMT -5
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:16:56 GMT -5
The Flash
Issue #22: “Fables”
Written by Mark Bowers
Cover by Craig Cermak
Edited by Charles HoM |
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:17:21 GMT -5
One of the problems being a police detective, aside from the ever-present threat of danger, were the irregular working hours. Having said that, during his last ten years at the Central City police department, Detective Charlie Conwell had always somehow managed to stick to a nine-to-five routine. It was something he prided himself on, although, with a teenage daughter to bring up on his own, it was also something of a necessity. Unfortunately, there are exceptions to every rule, and as he sat at his desk that day, catching up with his paperwork, little did he realize that his routine was about to be broken. It all began to go wrong first thing in the morning when a file was dropped onto his desk.
He looked up to see Captain Frye standing there, barking orders. “Rogue for you, Charlie. Interrogation room twelve.”
“Great, finally something to do,” said Conwell, grabbing hold of the file. “Talk about a slow day.” Then he saw the name on the top of the file and gave a groan. “The Turtle?”
“The guy turned himself in,” explained his captain, “for a crime he says he hasn’t committed yet. Go figure.”
“Terrific,” mumbled Conwell, as he got up from his desk, and looked at the amused faces of those around him.
“I interviewed that guy once before, back in Keystone,” said one of the older detectives. “Longest day of my life.”
“Better grab yourself a strong coffee,” suggested another one of his colleagues. “You’ll need it. And hey, Charlie,” he added, as Conwell walked away towards the interrogation rooms, “watch out for any sudden moves.”
“Ha ha,” was the deadpan reply from the unamused Conwell, as he continued towards the interrogation rooms at a brisk pace, determined to get this task over with as quickly as possible. A few minutes later, reaching room twelve, and opening the door, he saw a short, stumpy, elderly gentleman sat there at a table, wearing a large turtleshell on his back, seemingly asleep. Closing the door, he sat opposite the old man, who was slowly opening his eyes.
“Sorry to wake you,” Charlie said. “I just-”
“I... wasn’t... sleeping,” explained the old man, in a slow drawl of a voice. “Just... blinking.”
The detective forced a smile, and took a glimpse of the file in front of him. “Anyway, Mister Kanigher,” he began.
The old man glared at him, ever so slowly. “I’m... not... Kanigher...”
“But this file says,” began the detective, but then he looked at the picture in it, which didn’t match the old man in front of him. “Oh, I get it. This is the other Turtle. The second Turtle.”
“He... just... copied... me,” explained The Turtle, getting so angry that it was almost noticeable. “Just... like... that... new... Flash... copied... the... old... one,” he added, with a frown. “Both... nothing... more... than... a... pair... of....”
“Thieves? Charlatans? Copycats?” offered Charlie, in an attempt to speed things along.
“I... was... going... to... say... ‘tribute... acts’.”
Conwell let out a sigh. “So, Mister... Turtle, my captain tells me you’ve turned yourself in. Maybe you could just tell me why exactly, just so that we can get this whole thing over and done with as soon as possible.”
The old man opposite him, slowly put his elbows on the table, and then slowly lowered his head to rest on his hands, and looked at the detective.
“It’s... a... long... long... story.”
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:17:59 GMT -5
Later that morning in Central City, lightning flashes appeared in young Bartholomew Jason Allen’s eyes, reflections of the symbol on the chest of the latest wearer of the Flash costume, who he now tossed around his cot like a rag doll.
Suddenly, another wearer of the Flash costume sped into the house, and noticed the child’s antics. “Bart?” said his father, looking down at him in surprise. “What’s that you’re playing with?”
“Isn’t it cute?” said Barry’s wife, Iris, leaning in and looking at Bart, playing with his latest toy. “Your cousin Wally got that for you, didn’t he?” she said, smiling at the youngster.
“But,” said Barry, unable to believe what he was seeing, “don’t they need my permission to make Flash dolls? And what’s with those enormous cheeks?”
“They look about right to me,” she said, playfully tugging at her husband’s cheeks, and then was interrupted by the sound of a pager, sitting on a nearby table. “That’s been going off all morning,” she told Barry. “Looks like you’re needed elsewhere.”
Barry leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek, and then he, and the pager, were gone.
His son Bart, sat up straight-backed in his cot, his mouth and his eyes wide open in astonishment, as they always were whenever his father suddenly disappeared into thin air before him.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:18:19 GMT -5
“Don’t... you... hate... being... kept... waiting?” asked an impatient Turtle.
“I’m sure the police scientist will be here soon,” said Charlie Conwell, looking at the clock on the wall, and wishing he’d grabbed himself a coffee beforehand. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?” he offered. “A coffee or a cheeseburger, maybe? You name it.”
The Turtle looked at him in disdain. “Coffee... makes... me... kind... of...”
“Hyper?” joked Conwell.
The Turtle slowly nodded. “As... for... burgers,” he explained. “I... never... eat... fast... food.”
“Sorry. I just assumed from your physique...”
“Slow... metabolism,” explained The Turtle. “Usually... only... eat... salads. Clue’s... in... the... name, kid.”
“Guess that’s how you’ve stayed alive so long,” figured Conwell, looking at the silver-haired man opposite him, who’d been the first Flash’s first foe back in the forties.
The Turtle just stared at him in silence, and then began to nod. Before he’d finished nodding, a blond-haired man rushed through the door.
“Sorry I’m late, Charlie,” said Barry Allen. “How can I help?”
“Let... me... explain,” began The Turtle.
“It’s okay,” said Conwell, “I think I can handle it.”
While The Turtle began nodding in agreement, Conwell led Barry Allen out of the room, and closed the door behind them.
“Do you know who that guy in there is?” Conwell asked Barry.
Barry had recognized him instantly, but feigned ignorance. “Well, from his backpack I’d guess he’s either The Tortoise or The Turtle.”
“Right the second time. He’s The Turtle... or at least one of them. Anyway, he’s an old man now and he’s probably just trying to recapture past glories by coming in here, telling his tales.”
“Tales?” echoed Barry.
“Well, this is where the science bit, and you, come in. He’s got this outlandish theory about... well, you’ve heard of the force of gravity?”
Barry nodded, just in case, by some remote chance, Charlie’s question wasn’t actually rhetorical.
“Well, he says that’s a force of acceleration, and if there’s a force of acceleration then theoretically, dragging in some integral calculus – I think I got that right – that would mean there’s also a force of velocity.”
“A speed force?” said Barry Allen, trying to seem completely unfazed by this latest development. “Well, I guess it’s a theory.”
“Yeah, well this guy says he can see this force,” replied Charlie. “So, what do you reckon. Is he a crackpot wasting our time or should I take him seriously?”
“What if he can see this so-called force of velocity,” asked Barry. “How does that affect us?”
“He didn’t say. He just wants to make sure that I believe him, before he tells me his plans.”
“Plans?”
“For the Flash and Central City. That’s all he said.”
“We better go back in then,” said Barry. “He might not be bluffing.”
“You go in,” said Charlie, ushering him in. “I’ve gotta grab a coffee.”
Barry Allen stepped into the interrogation room and looked into the cold hard eyes of the man whom Jay had told him about on several occasions.
“Detective Conwell says that you’ve discovered a speed force,” began Barry.
“Velocity... force,” corrected The Turtle scornfully. “A... vector... rather... than... a... scalar. Are... you... sure... you’re... a... scientist?”
Barry ignored the crotchety old man’s jibe, and, sitting down on the table, carried on, “So, it’s an interesting theory, but what do you plan to do with it?”
The Turtle took a deep breath, during which time Conwell made his return to the room, a hot cup of coffee in his hands, and the old man then proceeded to regale them with his plan, so many years in the making.
“Let’s... suppose... I... could... monitor... this... velocity... force, see... the... way... it... runs... throughout... the... city, see... the... currents, the... flow and eddys.”
“So, you think you can control it?” Barry asked.
The Turtle gave a slow, deep laugh. “No... not... yet. But... just... to... see... it, see... where... the... force... is... most... concentrated.”
“Where’s that?” interrupted Conwell.
“No,” replied The Turtle, “you... mean... who’s... that?”
“The Flash!” said Conwell, one of the pieces of the jigsaw suddenly slotting into place for him.
The Turtle nodded. “The... Flash.”
“So, you monitor the Flash’s movements, maybe find out his true identity,” reasoned Barry Allen. “Expose it to the public or possibly blackmail him.”
“What... a... hurtful... thing... to... say. That... would... just... be... underhand... and... unworthy... of... me. No, I... plan... to... use... him.”
“Use him?” asked Conwell.
“My... plan... is... to... blackmail... the... city,” explained The Turtle, “and... to... use... the... Flash... to... do... it.”
“How?” asked Barry Allen.
“Well, just... like... in... that... old... tale... of... the... Tortoise... and... the... Hare, I... intend... to... challenge... him... to... a... race.”
“Why would he race against you?” asked a confused Conwell. “Don’t tell me you’ve been conserving your energy all of this time.”
“No, not... against... me,” he said, and then looked at his watch. “I... must... talk... to... the... Flash ... now.”
Conwell listened to the old man, and the gravitas in his tone convinced the detective that The Turtle was deadly serious. “Maybe I can put an APB out on him,” he suggested. “We should be able to find him soon enough.”
“But... I... can... find... him... quicker,” said The Turtle, as he started to pull a laptop computer out of a hidden compartment on his shell.
“So, your velocity force monitor really works?” said a bemused Barry Allen.
“Of... course.. it... does,” replied a disgruntled Turtle, opening up his computer. “Takes... a... while... to... start... up... though,” he explained, as Detective Conwell walked behind him to look at the screen.
Suddenly, a map of Central City sprang up on the monitor, with some areas brighter than others, representing the varying strengths of the velocity force throughout the city. A bright center of light could be seen at the corner of the screen that obscured everything around it. “There... he... is,” said The Turtle, pointing at the light. “ He’s... on... the... outskirts... of... the... city.”
“Hey, Barry, do you believe this?” asked Conwell, looking up to where Barry Allen had been standing just a moment ago. But now the police scientist was gone.
“Don’t... worry... about... your... friend,” laughed The Turtle. “Let’s... concentrate... on... the... Flash.” And with that, another compartment in his shell opened and a homing turtle, with wings on its back, emerged and flew out of the interrogation room.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:20:28 GMT -5
The Flash stood on the outskirts of Central City, wondering what to do next. He couldn’t risk visiting Jay to ask him about his oldest foe, or even go home, because, if that device of The Turtle’s worked, his every move was now being monitored. On the other hand, maybe The Turtle had just been bluffing.
Suddenly, he knew his latest nemesis hadn’t been bluffing, as a winged turtle-shell came down from the sky and started to hover in front of him.
“Guess you must be a turtle dove,” he mused.
“No,” replied the animatronic head that poked out of the shell, and talked to him with the speeded-up voice of The Turtle, “but you must be the pitiful hero who’s attempting to follow in the real Flash’s footsteps. Sadly, you’ve now met your match in the criminal mastermind that is... The Turtle.”
“Guess you’re a mock turtle then.”
“Silence, speedster, and listen carefully. I have come to issue you a challenge. There are explosive turtles concealed all around the city. You have twenty-four hours to find and deactivate them, otherwise they’ll all explode taking you and Central City with them.”
The Turtle then paused for a moment, and then suddenly continued. “But, that’s not all. If your speed drops below five hundred miles per hour at any time in the next twenty-four hours, then that will also cause The Turtles to explode. Other things that will cause them to explode are your leaving the confines of Central City, calling in any of your superpowered comrades, or refusing to accept this challenge.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said the Flash.
“This is all deadly serious. Now, Flash, you know I love you, but you’ve only got twenty-four hours to save Central City.”
And with that, The Turtle fell to the ground, inactive, but, before it had landed, the Flash had already sped away, not willing to risk standing still and destroying his home city.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:21:17 GMT -5
“So, you just stole your plan from Speed?” asked Detective Conwell in disbelief.
“That’s... about... it,” replied The Turtle.
“So, what’s to stop me from just overpowering you here and now?” asked the detective.
“Well, the... activation... of... my... explosive... shells... is... all... automated... and... only... I... know... how... to... stop... it, so... if... you... want... to... save... Central... City, could... you... please... contact... the... authorities... and... let... them... know... how... much... I’m... charging... to... call... off... my... plan.”
“Well, you’ll have to tell me how much you’re charging first?” asked Conwell.
“Bring... me... some... paper... and... a... pen,” said the old man, “so... I... can... write... a... number.”
Conwell looked at the clock on the wall, now showing noon, and found himself hoping that the number wouldn’t contain too many digits.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:21:48 GMT -5
The Flash’s plan had been to methodically comb the whole of the city, looking for the unexploded turtles, but so far it seemed like he’d just run around in circles for an hour, getting nowhere. Maybe it was the fact that he had to keep moving in order to meet the 500 miles per hour limit that prevented him from searching long enough, prevented him from even talking to his wife.
He’d considered phoning her, but if The Turtle could find his position using the speed force, then correlating that against any fast-moving cell phone signals would be child’s play for the villain. He’d also considered e-mailing Iris, but having to wait for the internet to respond, plus the fact that keyboards had yet to be built that could cope with his typing speed, made that idea a similar non-starter.
Maybe the old man was bluffing, maybe there weren’t any explosive turtles, but then again, if he was telling the truth, then at the Flash’s current success rate, the speedster could only see one solution ahead of him.
Zooming through his house, looking at Iris and Bart while they never even noticed him, he picked up some post-it notes, and filled two out. One of them, he would leave at the police station, the other contained possibly the last message that he would ever leave his wife and definitely the last one he’d leave stuck to her forehead.
It said, “I love you.”
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:22:25 GMT -5
A phone rang in the interrogation room, and Detective Conwell picked it up, around the same time that he felt a draft behind him.
“Okay, I understand,” he said, and then placed the receiver down and turned back to The Turtle. “They say they’ll not negotiate with terror-” he began, and then saw the post-it note stuck on the front of The Turtle’s shell.
“How do we know you’re not bluffing?” he asked, reading the note in front of him.
The Turtle looked down to his chest, and peeled off the note. “So... the... Flash... dares... to... doubt... me. Well, if... you... want... proof... and... the... authorities... need... a... bit... more... incentive, then... I... guess... a... demonstration... is... in... order.”
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:22:47 GMT -5
The Flash had been running for two hours when he came, once more, upon a derelict area of the city, but things had changed since his last visit. This time he noticed that barriers had been put up and the residents were being evacuated. He looked over at a couple of cops he knew, stood on the sidelines, and he wanted to ask them what was happening, but his constant need for speed made that an impossibility, and sticking post-it notes on their heads was probably a bad idea. Maybe, it was time to draft in help, and he knew just the person to ask.
As he rushed once more back through his house, ready to grab more post-it notes, he realized that Iris was already ahead of him. There, standing in front of him was a large white board and marker pens.
A nanosecond later, he’d left once more, leaving a long message behind for Iris to find.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:23:10 GMT -5
Once again a phone rang in the interrogation room, but, to Conwell’s surprise, this time it was his cell phone ringing. He looked at the caller.
“Hey, Barry,” he said, answering the call. “Why’d you run off?”
“This isn’t Barry. This is his wife, Iris,” came the voice on the other end of the phone. “Anyway, Barry’s rushed off his feet at the moment, but he asked me to find out what’s happening there?”
Conwell wondered whether to give out that sort of information over the phone, but he knew Iris well. Besides, it was a nice change to talk to someone who could talk back at the same speed. “Well, The Turtle’s about to prove he’s not bluffing, by destroying part of the city. Although, considering the part, it could be an improvement. Anyway, we’re evacuating the area now.”
“When’s it due to explode?” Iris asked.
“About ten minutes from now,” he replied.
“Thanks, Charlie,” replied Iris. “Got to go now.”
“Oh, Iris,” he said quickly. “Can you look in on Stacy after school. Looks like I’m going to be home late tonight.”
“Sure, no problem,” replied Iris, hearing the worry in his voice. “I’m sure everything’ll be okay,” she added, wondering if he too heard the worry in her voice.
“Bye, Iris,” he said, and closed his cell phone. “So, what do we do now, Turtle? Just wait here for them to meet your demands.”
“I... think... they... need... a... prod. Maybe... it’s... time... we... called... in... the... media,” mused The Turtle, slicking his hair back.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:23:38 GMT -5
Ten minutes later, and the Flash, having just read the message his wife had left on the board, rushed towards the area where the explosion was due, determined to find the explosive turtle in time.
Vibrating through the barriers that the police had put up, he searched the area, and came across an animal. A frightened kitten, alarmed by the police sirens, was huddled under a building. As he rapidly scooped it up in his arms, he turned around to see the explosion behind him, a sculpture of fire in the sky, slowly morphing outwards, laying waste to everything in its path, as the sound waves finally reached him. Temporarily deafened, he ran a safe distance from it, placing the kitten on the ground, and then raced back towards it, circling it, creating a vacuum to put out the fires and try and limit the damage. Exhausted by the heat, he looked at the destruction that had been reaped.
The city was full of these devices, and he had still yet to find one of the explosive turtles. Still, he thought, this left one less to find, and even if he couldn’t save Central City, he was now beginning to form a plan of his own.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:25:18 GMT -5
Conwell put the phone down. “They’re considering your offer,” he said. “Although, as soon as you’ve deactivated those turtles of yours, you know you’ll be locked up for life, so won’t be able to use that money for whatever nefarious scheme you’ve got planned.”
“I’m donating... it... to... charity,” he replied. “Got... enough... money... of... my... own... after... sixty... years... of... crime... plus... I’m... not... that... fast... at... spending... it.”
“So, why do it? Why cause all that destruction?”
“That’s... what... I... do. I... love... being... a...”
“Turtle?” guessed Conwell.
“...criminal... mastermind,” concluded the old man, shooting a venomous look in Conwell’s direction. “Besides... it... shouldn’t... come... to... that.”
“But, what about the Flash? What have you got against him, and his predecessor?”
“They... have... these... amazing... powers,” explained The Turtle. “I’d... love... to... get... powers... like... that... but... I’ve... got... more... chance... of... being... struck... by... lightning.”
“So, it’s just that you’re plain jealous?”
“No... it’s... because... they... waste... their... powers... fighting... crime... when... they... could... be.. helping... us... so... much... more.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They... live... so... fast, have... to... comprehend... so... fast. They... should... be... scientists... not... superheroes,” he said, looking at the monitor in front of him. “Here’s... the... Flash... rushing... past... this... library... again, when... he... could... go... inside... and... read... every... book, gather... all... that... knowledge. Imagine... what... he... could... do... if... he... set... his... mind... to... it. He... could... be... a... genius, an... Einstein. Even... bashing... away... on... a... keyboard... at... random... long... enough... could... produce... plays... to... rival... Shakespeare’s.”
“Yeah, but most days, we just need a Flash.”
Before The Turtle could reply, the phone rang again and Conwell answered it. “Looks like the TV cameras have arrived, Mister Turtle.”
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:25:38 GMT -5
“And finally on tonight’s WGBS news, Turtle power has been taken to a new extreme over in Central City, as the original Flash’s first foe, The Turtle, is threatening The Turtle destruction of the city if his demands aren’t met. Here we have an interview with him, filmed earlier today. Please note that portions of this interview have been speeded up.”
The Flash rushed past the department store and saw a picture of The Turtle on the screens. Looked like the story had gone public, he thought, as he raced past and through the rest of the city, now having to dodge more cars and people than usual as various citizens of Central City were ignoring the government’s advice not to be concerned and attempting to make their own escapes from the city.
Still, he had no time to try and dissuade them. Indeed, he was tempted to leave a message for Iris to tell her to join them, but he had other more pressing concerns on his mind, as once more he made his way back to the derelict part of the city where the first bomb had gone off.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:26:08 GMT -5
“So, she’s with you?” asked Conwell, oblivious to the media frenzy that was now sweeping the interrogation room. “Can I speak to her?”
His cell phone went silent for a minute, and then his daughter was on the line.
“Dad, me and Iris have just been watching the news. Are you okay?”
“Listen, honey. You and the Allens need to get out of town. This guy’s not joking.”
“I’m not leaving you,” replied his daughter Stacy. “End of story.”
“Stubborn like your mother,” Charlie replied. “Well, don’t worry, hon’. The Flash will save us. That’s what he does.”
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, sweetheart,” he said, and then closed his mobile, and looked at the man responsible for all of this misery.
The Turtle, having proven too un-photogenic for the TV interviewers, and unable to provide the slick sound bites required by today’s MTV-generation, now ignored the remaining reporters in the interrogation room, plus the SWAT team that he knew would be gathered outside, and concentrated on his laptop monitor, surprised to see that the Flash kept traveling through the site of the earlier explosion. Maybe he was trying to find some clue that would lead him to the other turtles.
“So, are the explosive turtles hidden in the shadows?” one of the reporters asked, hoping for a ninja turtles headline.
“No, and they’re not hidden in the sewers either,” Conwell interrupted. “That was one of the first places The Flash looked.”
“He’ll... never.. find... them,” replied The Turtle, with a smile. “You... know... what... they... say. More... haste... less... speed. A... luxury... my... opponent... doesn’t... have.”
“And if he doesn’t find them, then won’t we also die in the explosions?” Conwell asked.
“It’s... a... risk,” conceded The Turtle. “Then... again, it... all... depends... where... my... turtles... are. They... distributed... themselves... at... random... to... cause... the... maximum... damage.”
“So, there’s no way of knowing where it’s safe.”
“You... might... say... that...”
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:26:57 GMT -5
In Keystone City, Jay Garrick, having just received a call from Iris Allen, found himself entering The Turtle’s old hideout, looking for any clues as to how to stop the criminal’s latest scheme. Just as he was about to give up, he noticed the hollow sound beneath his feet and, a second later, he’d lifted up the carpet to reveal a trapdoor.
The next moment he was entering a secret room under the floor, searching the dusty surroundings, uncovering a scrapbook with newspaper cuttings featuring both him and Barry, leafing through numerous scientific journals, examining various turtle-shaped weapons, and finally finding, concealed under a tarpaulin, a blackboard with some words recently scrawled on it: “No clues here, old friend.”
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:27:19 GMT -5
All through the night, Conwell and The Turtle sat by the phone, waiting for the authorities to get in touch.
“Have you got friends? Family?” asked Conwell, trying desperately to appeal to The Turtle’s better nature, convince him of how wrong his actions were.
“Outlived... them... all. Never... really... liked... any... of... them.”
Conwell turned his face away, and looked in his wallet, staring at the picture of his family.
Meanwhile, outside, on the chaos that was the streets of Central City, the Flash, visiting another construction site, looking for materials to carry out his plan, suddenly found himself struggling to stay awake. Caffeine was no use, his body processed it in no time, and so he found himself running through lake after lake, the cold water splashing against his face, in an attempt to stave off the inevitable. Still, he knew that he couldn’t stay awake forever, knew that this game The Turtle was playing with him, this slow dance, was almost over.
He’d long ago decided that he wouldn’t find the other explosive turtles, which could be anywhere. That meant that there was no way of knowing where it was safe to go; well, almost no way.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:28:00 GMT -5
The interrogation room doors burst open and the next thing Conwell and The Turtle knew, they were being carried through the streets of Central City, and up the side of one of a huge collection of skyscrapers that neither of them remembered seeing before.
Conwell now found himself on the roof, his daughter, Stacy, rushing to hold him. He looked over at Iris Allen, holding her child, and then to the scarlet speedster.
“Flash?! You’ve stopped running!”
“Time to make a final stand,” the weary Flash explained, looking around him, at the rest of Central City, illuminated by the morning sun.
“But the explosive turtles could be anywhere,” said Conwell, and then looked over to The Turtle who was smiling.
“Except... for... here, where... the... first... exploding... turtle... was,” said The Turtle, realizing where the Flash had brought him.
“That’s right,” explained The Flash. “Any turtles in the vicinity would have been activated by the previous explosion, so I went to the library, taught myself architecture, and spent the last fifteen hours constructing these skyscrapers, large enough to house all of the Central City residents who remained, and bringing those citizens here. Barry Allen’s down below, explaining things to them.”
“Bravo,” said The Turtle, slowly clapping his hands together. “It’s… nice… to see… that you’re worthy… of the Flash… name.”
“But, what about the rest of the city,” said Conwell, looking at the unchanged landscape below. “Why has it not exploded?”
“I kind of wondered that, myself,” said the Flash. “I was ready to run down there, try and minimize the damage.”
“I’m... a... criminal... mastermind,” replied The Turtle, “not... a... murderer. There... were... no.... turtles... of... mass... destruction. Well... just... one, in... order... to... make... it... look... like... I... wasn’t.. bluffing.”
“So, I guess the money wasn’t for charity either?” said Conwell, suspicious of the old timer.
“That... was... actually... true,” said The Turtle, tears in his eyes. “It’s... of... no... use... to... me, not... with... my... illness. Even... turtles... don’t... live... forever, and... that’s... where... I... have to... admit... to... another... lie. There... is... still... one... more... unexploded... Turtle. Couldn’t... resist... the... chance... to... finally... destroy... a... Flash. Go... out... with... a... bang.”
Conwell, saw The Turtle reaching for a button on his belt, and before he knew it, he found himself running between the Flash and The Turtle, heard his daughter’s screams, and then there was a Flash before his eyes, as the scarlet speedster vibrated through his body, grabbed hold of The Turtle and flung him up with such velocity that he traveled higher and higher into the air.
The Turtle looked down and, just as he’d planned, he activated the device in his turtle-shell.
KABOOM!
The Flash, Charlie Conwell and their families looked up at the big explosion in the sky, and for a moment they were silent.
Then, Charlie pointed at something he saw flying away from the debris.
“It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s Super-Turtle,” said a weary Flash.
“That story he was dying. Just another lie,” said Charlie.
“He’ll be back,” said The Flash. “He was just testing me this time. He’ll go away and come up with another plan. Yeah, he’ll be back... it’ll just take a while.”
“And we’ll be waiting,” said Iris, resolutely.
They were all silent, until Charlie finally spoke, “Well, we better get home.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that,” said the Flash, yawning, and then there were just he, Iris and Bart alone on the rooftop.
“That was quick,” observed Iris. “Now you’ve just got to carry all of the people in these skyscrapers back to where you found them.”
“Oh, I did that too,” said Barry, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders, glad to no longer be living at a different speed from her. “Did I ever tell you I loved you, Mrs. Allen.”
“Yeah, on that white board. Every hour on the hour since yesterd-”
And then she noticed, with a smile, that her husband, like her son, was now asleep in her arms.
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Post by HoM on Mar 11, 2008 12:28:51 GMT -5
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Post by mockingbird on Jul 31, 2011 12:35:12 GMT -5
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