Anger and fear are two emotions that can be caused by one another. Most humans are easily influenced by both of them to act irrationally, frantically. They can drive a mind to madness. Also, they make good motivators. Roy had lived most of his life using those two emotions as guidelines. Mostly fear. Fear of failing, of rejection, of pain, of loss. The anger came later. Bottled up for years and years. Years of hiding, backing down. To afraid of others to assert himself through anything other then a paint brush and canvas. The colors had always been his own comfort. Escape from the fear. And then the accident happened. He had been in a rented space. Alone like always as he listened to music and painted the city's shape. He was thinking about what to have for dinner as he finished one section and put down his brush. Then everything went to Hell
The sound of gun fire in the streets. Roy rushed to the window and saw several things happening at once. The first was the car that pulled into the alley way behind the building. Several men jumped out, all pointing guns at the alley mouth. A police car quickly followed but stopped short when fired upon. Roy watched as the men ran into his building, more sirens already heard in the distance. Roy rushed to the door of his small space and locked it shut. Just to be safe he moved a stool under the knob. He had no desire to get mixed up in something like this.
Despite his best efforts to stay quiet and clear of the altercation he was dragged in anyway. His door was shot open, the shattered pieces exploding from the force of a shot gun blast at point blank range. Roy pressed against the wall as the four men entered. They wore masks, carried big guns, and were all looking directly at him. Roy couldn't even breath as the few seconds of silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity. Then a gun was pointed at him, "Don't make any trouble and you might live through this." growled the man aiming at him
Roy just nodded, unable to speak as his terror paralyzed him. The men spread out and searched the room. Two of them found the large bookshelf Roy used to keep his paint supplied on. With great effort they moved the thing to cover the doorway. Roy slid down the wall to sit, watching one man go to the window and swear, "More cops."
"We can handle it." said another, looking at Roy, "We got a hostage."
"A nobody." snorted the man who had pointed the gun at Roy, "Some two bit artist."
Roy flinched. Despite the situation he still hated it when people mocked his work. Perhaps, if he did die here, people would finally recognize his brilliance. Artists are only popular after they die anyway. He stiffened when he saw the last man approach his canvas, "I don't know. Looks alright to me. A little generic, but not bad."
"What are you, an art critic?" asked the man at the window mockingly
"Wife makes me go to gallery shows sometimes. I picked up some stuff." the man defended
"This is the Central City Police." a slightly muffled voice came through the closed windows. Obviously someone had found a mega phone, "We have the building surrounded. There is no way out. Put your weapons down and come out with your hands over your heads."
"It's always the same line." huffed the man at the window. He opened it a crack and yelled down, "You might want to be careful. We've got a hostage up here."
A pause from the street. Roy thought about the police outside, talking about him without even knowing who he was. And that was the problem, they didn't know him. He might as well be an acceptable casualty. They might even cover up his death, say these men had killed him. Police did things like that all the time. Roy had never had a nice interaction with the police. Not to say he was a criminal, but he had made a few forgeries in his time. Had to pay off those Art School debts somehow after all.
"We need to see the hostage is safe and unharmed. Then we can talk about this." the voice from outside finally answered
Roy let out a little whimper when once more all eyes turned to him. One of the men approached and viciously gripped Roy's right upper arm. Roy put up mild resistance as he was dragged to his feet. That stopped when the hand holding him tightened in warning. He was shoved over to the man at the window. That man pressed Roy against the glass roughly as he shouted out the window, "He's just fine, see. But that might change any time."
"No one has to get hurt here today." the police responded.
Roy could now see outside again. There were more police cars and a large black van. He had seen those vans in movies. That was a SWAT van. They were going to try and come in here eventually. And when they did Roy just hope he survived the experience so he could crawl home and drown in a bottle.
For the next hour the police and fugitives talked. Roy would occasionally be threatened. One of the men even punching Roy in the face right in front of the window. Roy had been put away in the corner where he stored the various chemicals he sometimes mixed with his paints and water. His cheek was already swelling, the inside cut by his own teeth. The taste of blood in his mouth was only increasing his fear. Then, the SWAT team arrived.
The shelf in front of the door exploded with great force. Roy plastered himself against the wall, his eyes open as he watched. The men turned to face the SWAT team. The air was pierced Anger and fear are two emotions that can be caused by one another. Most humans are easily influenced by both of them to act irrationally, frantically. They can drive a mind to madness. Also, they make good the sound of gunfire. One of the masked men went down instantly. The next took one in the leg before he managed to get to cover. A third man had simply dropped his weapon and laid flat on the ground. But the last man managed to get to Roy. He ripped off his mask, his face visible for the first time. He was a few years younger then Roy. His hair a fiery red and cut very short. His blue eyes shown with rage as he stood over Roy, "They aren't going to completely win." he snarled vindictively as he raised his gun and pointed it at Roy's face
The man's finger tightened on the trigger. Roy could see it happen as the world slowed down around him. Then the rage on the man's face turned to pain, a red fountain shooting out of his right shoulder. The gun pointed at Roy moved slightly to the right before it went off. For half a moment Roy felt he might be safe. But then the cans next to him exploded form the impact. He was sure at least one of them had caught fire. The last thing Roy saw before his world became blinding pain was a large splash of liquid headed for his face.
As his world went dark Roy screamed. And he didn't stop as he tried to almost claw his own eyes out. The pain was like nothing he had felt before. As if his eyes were melting and soon the rest of his head would follow. The next several hours were a blur of pain and noise. Then everything went dark.
Upon waking Roy had panicked. He couldn't see, everything was dark. It was explained to him that he had been blinded by the chemicals. When he heard that he would never regain his sight his whole mind set changed. All that fear he had felt became unbridled fury. He screamed and ranted, throwing anything his grasping hands came in contact with at the sounds of voices around him. They had sedated him and put him under mental watch. They had isolated him, put a guard at his door, and make him talk to a therapist every day. It didn't take him long to realize he was no longer in the hospital proper. He was in the psychiatric wing. That just made him even angrier. For weeks he seethed, saying little to anyone aside from angry insults and slurs. His anger became tinged with bitterness against any form of authority. Hell, what had authority ever done for him. All it had done was get him blinded and helpless. At least it did...until that special night.
The lightning had come right through the window of his room. He didn't know it was lightning until he woke up 3 months later. It was a very surreal experience. Waking up to something other then darkness. For a moment, looking at that white ceiling, Roy thought something miraculous had happened. That quickly changed when he turned his head. The room itself was what he had expected. Equipment to monitor him, IV bags, a window and a curtain. But nothing, not a damn thing, was in color. Roy had been given back his sight, but he could no longer see the colors that comforted him.
When his doctor came in, an old man with gray hair, he acted like Roy wouldn't see him. Roy didn't correct him, looking into the middle distance in front of him. The doctor explained about the lighting strike. About how Roy's brain scans had been strange ever since then. His own brain chemistry keeping him asleep, though no one knew why. The more the man talked the angrier Roy got. Basically all his doctor was saying was that they knew squat. His anger reached it's peek when a nurse silently entered the room. The doctor didn't acknowledge her so neither did Roy. At least until the woman pulled out a needle and approached his IV.
Roy knew what she was doing. She was going to drug him so they could move him back to that horrible Psych Ward. He reached out and grabbed her wrist in a tight grip. She dropped the needle in surprise and turned to look at him with shocked horror. He looked her square in the eyes, feeling all of his anger swell to the surface, "Don't do that." he growled. Then he winced. His eyes gave a horrible throb along with his brain. And then he saw it. The color. The nurses eyes had changed color for a moment, to something other then black and white. Her eyes had flashed a deep crimson red.
He let go of her, bringing his hand to his head instead as it gave another little throb. He turned to see his doctor looking at him with awe, "You can see?"
Roy didn't get the chance to answer. The throb came again as he looked the doctor in the eyes. Then that same red flash. Roy's headache was getting worse. He yelled in surprise when both the nurse and the doctor let out yells of rage and flew at each other like wild animals. They tore at each other like maniacs. Roy had had enough of this madness. Nothing made sense anymore. He bolted form the room, not caring that all he had was a hospital gown. As he ran he saw people running toward his room. A male nurse stopped him and Roy once more felt the throb. The man's eyes turned red for a second before he attacked another doctor who had been running to see what all the screaming was about.
Roy's head felt like it would split apart. He stumbled down the halls of the hospital, trying to find a place to hide. He eventually fond some sort of locker room. As he searched for clothing the ache in his head lessened slightly. In a few minutes he was dressed and his head no longer ached. Not wasting any time Roy fled the hospital.
It took weeks to learn how to control. He took to wearing sunglasses at all times, his emotions not still fully in his control. Probably something to do with that weird lightning. The only blessing was that, even color blind, Roy could paint again. He spent a long time isolated, painting away his fears and frustrations just like always. His work was different now though. More about what he felt then what he saw. The police never came looking for him. Roy guessed no one really cared that the nobody had wondered off.
He eventually ran out of money and had to come up with a plan. It probably should have taken Roy a little longer to decide on bank robbery. But it just seemed the thing to do. After all, what good was a super power if you didn't show it off. And now that he could control it without the headaches it would be easy. Sure, there was that red blur running around. But one look at Roy and the guy would become a walking time bomb. No one could stop him.
Except a man with a fucking bow and arrow. A guy who had manage to tie him upside down by his ankles before dragging him off to some prison. Roy had been enraged for about an hour after they locked him away. Banging on the walls and door, screaming for release. But then he had run out of energy and collapsed. That's when the anger retreated and logic took over. He was trapped. Not arrested or jailed, trapped! These people were not the police. They had no right to hold him. Yet here he was in a tiny box with no way to contact the outside world. They could do anything they wanted to Roy and no one would ever know. Horrible thoughts filled his head as his old friend fear came back to roost.
He had a panic attack, feeling like a trapped rat. He finally managed to hyperventilate into unconsciousness. Roy was awoken by a female voice calling from what was apparently an intercom system, "Mr. Bivolo?"
Roy looked around, wiping the sleep from his eyes. The fear returned along with the memories of where he was and how he got here. He answered hesitantly, "Yes?"
"What would you like to eat?"
Roy blinked, "What?"
"It's lunch time and I need to know if you have any food preferences or allergies."
Roy glared at the ceiling. He recognized that tone. He snarled, "I don't talk to doctors."
A pause, "How did you know I was a..."
"Your voice." Roy snapped, "You sound just like the people at the hospital. I won't talk to you."
"You don't really have a choice." the woman replied, sounding a little frustrated, "I'm the only one here at the moment."
"Then I'll wait." Roy closed his eyes and lowered his head to his arms that were wrapped around his knees. He relaxed a little when the voice did not return.
About an hour later another voice filled the small box. It was young and male sounding, "Um...hello?"
Roy once more looked up at the ceiling, "What?"
"I guess I'm here to take your order." the voice said, making the statement sound almost like a question
"Do I have choices then?" Roy asked with slight curiosity, "No regulation gruel?"
"Just keep it under twenty bucks." the young man replied bluntly
Roy rolled his eyes and pondered for a moment, "Pizza, sausage with mushrooms."
"Great."
That appeared to be the end of things for the next half hour. Then the cell started moving again. Roy freaked out a little, watching the strange room he was in pass by through the clear doors. Then it stopped and a metal door rose. There was a young man there. He had seen him before when he had been locked in here. The young man was holding a box of pizza. And he had the most ridiculous looking glasses on his face, "Seems a bit much." Roy said, gesturing from his sitting position
"Can't be to careful." the young man defended. He pushed a button on the wall and a small compartment opened up. The young man put the pizza inside and pushed the button again. Roy watched curiously as a slot opened up in the seemingly solid wall next to his head. The box was sitting there, the smell of it making Roy's mouth water. Roy took the pizza and the young man reached down to pick up two bottles of water. They went through the same process. Seeing the water made Roy very aware of another problem.
He fidgeted, "I have to use the bathroom." he muttered
The young man blushed, "Oh man, I forgot to tell you about that." at least he had the decency to sound a bit embarrassed, "If you put your hand against the back wall and press down for 10 seconds a toilet comes out of the wall. Well, it does when the cell is against the wall. The camera's turn off until you're done. But an alarm let's us know if it's active for more then 15 minutes."
Roy glared, "What about a shower?"
"Once every two days the cell will fill up with a special gas that attracts dirt and germs. It's sucked out of the room about 5 minutes later. It won't hurt you." the kid seemed almost proud of all of this. If made Roy sick. He put the pizza aside and stood slowly.
"And that's what it's going to be from now on? Take out and living in a fish bowl?" his fists were clenched and shaking, his anger once more trying to bleed to his eyes. He just managed to hold back the urge knowing it would do no good."You're just going to leave me in here to rot like some animal?!"
"No!" the kid looked horrified, "We're going to figure out a way to rehabilitate you."
Roy couldn't stop the burst of laughter that erupted, "Do you even know how to do that?"
The kid now looked a little unsure for a moment. Then he glared, "Just eat the pizza." he said before pushing a button and allowing the cell to return to it's original location. Using the facilities felt very shameful, what with the freaking see through door. And he just hoped the kid had been telling the truth about the cameras shutting off.
It wasn't until the next morning that the young man returned. He took the trash from Roy and replaced the water but not the food, "What, no breakfast?"
The kid winced, "We don't have the resources to feed you three times a day. So when you make the order in the afternoon we bring you enough for a day. I get the garbage in the morning."
"And what am I supposed to do with all my sudden free time?" Roy asked
The kid paused, hand half way to the close button. He hesitated only for a moment, "What do you want?"
"Some art supplies would be nice." Roy said before lowering his eyes to the floor once more. He had said his peace.
So for months he stayed in that tiny box with minimal privacy. He sometimes saw the other inmates, occasionally another being added to their number. Mark Mardon got a cell right next to Roy. Mark wasn't a bad guy all the time. But most of the time all he did was rant about his revenge. It made Roy wonder why he himself had never thought of such an option. Most of the time however Roy would draw.
The first time he had run out of pages and asked the young man, Cisco he had learned, for a new book he was met with a difficult request. If he wanted a new book he would have to hand over the old one. Roy had argued the point but Cisco had been adamant. Roy held out for one more day before giving in. At the moment he was between books, new one would come in tomorrow. Meanwhile he was just stuck listening to Mark play with his base ball. And then the smoke had come. Not the same as the shower smoke. This one burned his throat and made him panic. His fear was overwhelming as the whole world went dark.
Waking up in the truck with a bunch of strangers had also been fear inspiring. But Roy hid it behind a fake persona of smugness. He met Shawna, who seemed a nice enough girl. Apparently she could teleport. Deadbolt, refusing to go by any other name, made Roy's skin crawl. Not as much as Nimbus though, that guy was on a whole other level. Mark's reaction upon waking wasn't to big of a surprise. What was a surprise was when they got their powers back and fought like hell to get away. And now, thanks to the Snart's, Roy was free. He was running down the country road that led away from Ferris Air. Mark was right by his side.
They stopped after about a mile and simply looked at the city not far away, "What do we do now?" Roy asked. He got this strange feeling that they should stick together
Mark must have had the same idea because he gave a hum of thought, "I might now a place. Last place the Flash will look for me is the first place he found me."
"Sounds like a plan." Roy said as they once more began to run.
As he ran he thought about what he was feeling now. It wasn't anger, or fear. For the first time in almost a year Roy felt strangely at peace. As if everything would turn out alright. And one new emotion. The enjoyment of freedom. He reveled in it even as his lungs began to burn from exertion.