Prologue
Knock, knock. "Director?"
"Come in."
The bespectacled man, clad in a dark blue suit with a black tie, entered the room and at once beheld the darkness it was shrouded in. "Sir…he's arrived."
"Has he, now?" The man to whom the announcement was made sat at an oak-carved desk, his face partially obscured by the darkness of the room, yet his deep, commanding voice bore strongly in contrast to the lack of light. "Very well. Show our visitor in, please."
"Yes, sir." The blue-suited man nodded once before turning and heading out of the room, though he left the door open.
The man at the desk did not move from his seat, but waited patiently. A short moment later, his patience was rewarded as footsteps echoed outside the office door…then the footsteps were accompanied by the sight of a tall, dignified-looking man clad in a brown business suit with a matching long coat. The newcomer himself had sand-brown hair that was slightly graying at the temples, and a few age-lines across his brow and cheeks, but otherwise he bore himself with a calm personal décor that few men in his role in this world could pull off without appearing scripted.
"Glad to have you here," the director addressed his guest, standing from his chair as he spoke.
"All things considered," the visitor replied.
"True. Please, have a seat." The director gestured to the only other chair in view, a little off to the side of his desk.
"Thank you, but I prefer to remain standing. My business here will be brief." The newcomer's face was calm and devoid of any emotion, although his voice rang straight to the point.
"As you like." The director sat back down. "Getting straight to the point…you've always been like that."
"As have you," returned the newcomer. "Now, then, Director. We understand that you have been working on a…project…for the past twenty or so years…"
"Twenty-four, to be exact, at the behest of the previous director and with the sanction of the President of the United States himself," the other man replied. "They felt that there was a need for this project, in the interest of both national security and global protection from outside attacks. You should know that such things are…distressingly commonplace."
"Yet this project was begun without our knowledge or sanction. Just as the 'Batman Beyond' project was previously done, clandestine." Again the visitor's face betrayed no emotion.
"With the best of intentions, of course," the director said casually. "And as the 'Batman Beyond' project was started with the betterment of the world in mind, so, too, have we worked on this project. Millions have been funneled into making this work, with failures carefully corrected as time went by…and now, the world will be made all the better for it."
"So you say."
For the first time, from the shadows hiding his face, the director's smirk became visible at the sound of his caller's deadpan response. "You do remember the near-apocalypse of '09, yes? Many of your colleagues lost a lot in that incident…"
"…including their lives. Yes. I know. I was there." Still the visitor's face bore no emotion, but now a scowl could be heard in his tone.
"Then you will understand why this project, as well as the 'Batman Beyond' project, had their genesis. New heroes spring up in every generation…but some can never be replaced by birth or natural selection." The director leaned back in his chair. "Which is where we come in. We make sure those legends never truly die, even if their bearers do."
"By playing God?" the other man asked, still with the scowl in his tone.
"Please. I'm not so haughty to try such a thing…even if any of my predecessors probably were. I'm a man of faith, myself." The director pointed toward a nearby bookshelf, on top of which a large black Bible rested. "I read that book at least once a day. If I didn't, I'd probably go do something utterly stupid that I'd regret for the rest of my natural life. If I didn't, maybe then I would feel inclined to play God, to upset the natural progression of things."
"Good for you," said the visitor flatly. "Returning to the matter at hand…"
"Yes, of course." The director now rested his elbows on the desk and crossed his fingers together. "What, exactly, do you want from us? For the project to be stopped? If so, you're a little late for that. It's already completed—and, again, with presidential sanction."
"I gathered as much. What I want to know is, what exactly is the project geared toward…if, as you say, it doesn't involve 'playing God'?" the visitor asked.
"To put it very simply…" The director tapped the tips of his index fingers together. "It's a suit."
"…a suit."
"Yes. A suit." The director nodded. "Made with the latest available nanotechnology of the decade, not unlike the costume worn by Gotham City's modern Dark Knight…only, this one has something that that suit does not."
"Which would be…" the other man paused.
Again the director smirked. "Upgraded parts."
Now a visible sign of expression came over the visitor's face—he cocked an eyebrow slightly. "You're making a new Bat-suit?"
"No, no. That would mean training someone to be a new Batman…and the one Gotham's got right now is doing a good enough job as it is. Why fix what's not broken?" said the director. "No…I'm merely giving a revival to another hero…one who is just as worthy as the Batman of olden times…one who doesn't quite get proper due except from those who know that hero's true contributions to our continued existence."
Again the director smirked. "Project: Speedster."
The visitor blinked. "…I see. A suit that grants its wearer super-speed by way of technology."
"Emulating the abilities of the world's best-known speedster, including versatile uses of speed," added the director.
The sand-haired man paused a moment. "I presume you have mass-produced this suit already?"
"No. I have better respect for a legend than that. Besides, if I did mass-produce such technology, any fool could get his hands on it and use it for all manner of purposes…including the wrong ones. And that would dishonor this hero's legacy irreparably." The director tapped his fingers together again. "My intention, rather, is to ensure that this outfit is delivered to someone who is worthy of bearing the legacy and the responsibility that comes with it. Between you, me, and the walls of this room, I've always been something of a fan of that legend…so who better to bear it than a worthy individual?"
"But you haven't found any such worthy individual," the visitor guessed.
"Unfortunately, no. That is why I've had it under lock and key here for so long." The director shook his head. "And that is why I contacted you. Perhaps you know someone, or are able to find someone, who can put this project to good use…or, failing that, you will be in a better position than we are to ensure that it's kept safe. Heaven knows, with all the security breaches and treachery we've had to put up with these last few decades, it's a wonder we haven't already collapsed on ourselves from the stress."
Again the visitor paused as he took in this information. "I must admit, I am somewhat surprised you would reach out to us so readily, especially for something as sensitive as this," he said quietly. "As I recall, your immediate predecessor was not quite so…cooperative."
"That was a different time, and my predecessor was a different person…and did mellow as time went by, if becoming a little more zealous in specific pursuits toward 'the greater good'," returned the director. "I'd like to think of myself as being reasonable, to a point."
"Noted." The visitor nodded. "Very well. My group will work with you in accomplishing this project's intended purpose. A legacy must be honored, after all."
"Quite so." The director straightened up in his chair. "Morton?"
"Yes, Director?" and at once the bespectacled man appeared in the doorway again.
"Please show Mr. Jones to the holding area where 'Project: Speedster' is being held. He has agreed to keep it in secure storage for us, and to treat it as intended," the director instructed.
"Yes, Director," Morton nodded. "Right this way, Mr. Jones."
"Thank you." Jones made as if to leave the room…then paused and faced the director again. "You said you're a man of faith, Mr. Waller. Let us see if your prayers for this project of yours will be answered." And then he turned and followed Morton out of the room, leaving the director in the shadows of his office again.
END PROLOGUE
OOOOO
THE FLASH 2055
Written by Neon Majestic
(DISCLAIMER: The Flash is the property of DC Comics and was created by Gardner Fox and Harry Lampert. The DC Animated Universe was created through the collaborative efforts of Bruce Timm and Paul Dini and was produced and is owned by Warner Bros. The Flash franchise and the DC Animated Universe are not mine.)
CHAPTER 1: Rebirth of the Lightning
THREE MONTHS LATER…
"Hey, Barry! Wake up, slowpoke, or we're gonna be late! Again!"
The blond-haired young man, a disgruntled look on his face, stood over a bed in which a covered-up lump slept peacefully. "C'mon, would you wake up already?" he snapped again.
"Mmm…go away, Jay," a sleepy voice emanated from beneath the covers.
Growling, Jay West grabbed a pillow and began smacking Barry with it. "GET—UP—THIS—MINUTE!" he yelled, emphasizing each word with a blow from the pillow.
"All right! All right! Sheesh!" Barry cried, flinging the covers off his body. "Take it easy!"
"Try telling that to Mom if we're late for her birthday luncheon again, dork," Jay said darkly, tossing the pillow at his brother's head. "Get up and get dressed, you slowpoke!"
"Yeah, yeah," Barry grumbled, running a hand through his fiery red hair even as he climbed out of bed and headed for the nearby bathroom.
"And don't hog all the hot water again!" Jay yelled after him as the bathroom door slammed shut.
"Whatever!" Barry shouted back from behind the door.
Shaking his head, Jay turned to a nearby dressing table and began to pick through the drawers. "Keys, keys, keys, where are you?" he asked in singsong.
His singing was interrupted by a knock at the door in the hallway. "Coming! Who is it?" he hollered.
"It's Daphne!" a female voice announced on the other side of the door.
Smirking, Jay ran to the door and flung it open to behold a blond-haired young woman, Daphne Dean, standing outside. On seeing him, her expectant face darkened. "Oh, hello, Jay," she sighed. "I thought it was Barry."
"I could be Barry if you wanted," Jay said teasingly, leaning against the door-frame. "All I'd have to do is dye my hair, and…"
"And you'd still be the same jerk as always. No amount of dye is ever going to alter that." Daphne crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Jay.
"And how am I a jerk, now?" Jay asked, still smirking.
Daphne began counting off on her fingers. "First year of high school, you were a jerk. Second year, you made the basketball team—still a jerk. Third year, made basketball team captain and lettered in track—still a jerk. Graduated from high school, then made it through the first three years of Central City University—still a jerk right through. Or have you forgotten all the wedgies you pulled on the people who were less popular than you, the kids you used to stuff into lockers, the fights you'd start for fun, and all the times you'd pull chairs out from under other people…among other things?"
"Hey, that was then. This is now. I'm a changed guy, Daphne," Jay chuckled.
"Tell that to all your past victims. I, for one, am not convinced." Daphne leveled another glare at him. "You know, if it wasn't for the obvious resemblance and the fact you both have the same parents, I'd be hard-pressed to believe you and Barry are really twins. How he wound up with a guy like you as his brother is beyond me."
"Whatever," replied Jay, rolling his eyes.
"Daphne, is that you?" Barry called out from behind Jay, emerging from the bathroom in a blue towel. "Just a sec, let me get dressed!" and he hurried back into the bedroom.
"Don't be too long, Barry," Daphne called after him. "Who knows how long I've gotta stay with your brother…"
"All right, all right, I can tell when I'm not wanted," said Jay, although his expression clearly still showed amusement. "Oh, please pardon me now, madam, I need to go start my car," he added mockingly, brushing past Daphne and out the door.
"Why don't you go pull your brain out of the trash where you dumped it, while you're at it?" Daphne flung after him.
"Never mind Jay, Daph; that's just how he gets, you've always known that," Barry called to her from inside. "Why don't you come on in and make yourself comfy? Although we won't be able to hang out for long…"
"Oh, you're going somewhere?" Daphne queried as she came inside and sat down on the couch.
"Today's our mom's birthday," Barry told her.
At that Daphne slapped a palm on her head. "Oh, no, I totally forgot! You could've reminded me, you know, Barry!"
"My bad, my bad," Barry answered in a sheepish voice, even as now he emerged from the bedroom wearing baggy blue jeans and a blue polo shirt. "I'll just tell Mom you'll bring her present later on, when you're free of mid-terms. She'll understand."
"Yeah, she's always that kind of lady, ever since we were all growing up together," and Daphne smiled now. "So, what are you giving her for her birthday?"
"I was planning to take her on a tour of the city's Flash Museum," replied Barry.
Daphne made a face. "Again? Isn't that what you gave her last year?"
"Yeah, well, my mid-terms weren't exactly forgiving to me, either, you know," Barry admitted. "It'll be okay, though—they did some major overhauling of the exhibits, updated and upgraded some of them for realism, added some new exhibits…"
"You're such a superhero nerd, you know that?" Daphne asked, lightly punching Barry on the shoulder.
"Barry! Are you ready yet, dweeb? We gotta go! Tell your girlfriend bye-bye and get your butt in gear!" Jay shouted from outside.
"Yeah, yeah, coming!" Barry shouted back. "Sorry, Daphne, but we really have to go. Call you later?"
"Sure—tell your folks hi for me, okay?" Daphne leaned over and lightly pecked him on the cheek.
OOOOO
Half an hour later, Jay's yellow sports car pulled up outside a two-story suburban house. "Okay, you called Mom to let her know we were coming, right?" Barry, in the passenger seat, asked his twin.
"Me? You were supposed to phone her, dummy!" Jay snapped, slapping Barry in the back of the head.
"Okay, look, can you at least pretend to be civil to me, today of all days?" Barry asked, scowling a little. "I promised Mom when you and I were going to room together for college that we'd be more mature than when we were kids—at least let her have some hope of that having happened, huh?"
Jay leveled a glare at Barry. "Not my fault you were always such a nerdish little twip when we were growing up," he scoffed. "I mean, honestly, who exactly chooses to go to college to become a crime lab technician? Bo-RING!"
"Grandpa was a lab tech, remember?" said Barry.
"Yeah, 'cuz he was a nerd—but then again, I guess it's true what they say, boring stuff gets passed on in the genes as well as fun stuff," Jay snorted.
"And being a jerk jock is good, how exactly?" Barry asked pointedly.
"Basketball team, track team, multiple trophies and awards, all-around sports son of Central City—I'd say it's been good enough," Jay replied, proudly flexing a bicep. "And don't forget, it worked in your favor too, carrot-top. Think how many of the guys on the team were ready to give you noogies or stick bubble gum in your hair the first year of high school—the only reason they didn't was because I was already doing it enough for five jocks!" Here he reached over and roughly tousled Barry's hair. "Be grateful!"
"Yay to you," Barry sighed.
"Barry! Jay! Good to see you boys, come on in!"
Looking up to see their mother standing at the front door, the brothers promptly exited the car and walked up the driveway to meet her. "Hi, Mom," Jay greeted her. "We'd have called to let you know we were coming, if a certain somebody had bothered to remember," and again he tousled Barry's hair.
Laura West, a 50-something with slight curls of grey here and there in her faded blond hair, shook her head at her sons. "Now, now, Jay, be nice," she admonished him. "What matters is, you're both here and I'm happy to see you."
"Is Dad here?" Barry asked.
Laura shook her head. "He had to work today," she answered. "You know how it can get with him, as Central City's police commissioner."
"So Dad's not celebrating your birthday with you? That's a bummer, Mom!" Barry looked crestfallen.
"Eh, Dad's probably got something planned for just him and Mom later—right, Mom?" Jay chuckled.
"We'll see," smiled Laura. "In the meantime, what do you two have for me? Or is it a surprise?" and her smile became a little more impish.
"Say, Mom, how'd you like a tour of the Flash Museum?" Barry asked eagerly.
"What? Oh, come on, that's what you gave her last year, doofus!" Jay reprimanded his twin. "And besides, the Museum's right there already—who says she can't go any time she feels like?"
"Oh, no, Jay, I don't mind," Laura cut in. "You've always known that the Flash was one of my favorite superheroes of times gone by. I'm just disappointed that the Justice League doesn't have anybody like him in their current ranks now…oh well, at least the Museum's better than nothing, right?"
"So we can take you, then!" Barry appeared hopeful.
"Oh, brother," Jay muttered.
OOOOO
"…in other news, today marks the 50th anniversary of the official opening of our city's very own Flash Museum. The Museum was built in 2005 as a tribute to the city's costumed crime-fighter of the time, the super-speed hero known as the Flash. Even now, scores of residents are converging to witness the Museum's reopening in a special ceremony to be attended by several city delegates, including Mayor Jasmine Russell, police commissioner Maxwell West, and District Attorney Gregory Wolfe."
Watching the blue-headed virtual news anchor on the television, Axel Walker scowled and shook his head. "What a bunch of saps," he grumbled. "Coming together to celebrate a dead superhero—what's more pathetic?"
Screenshots of the Flash Museum's front entrance were portrayed on the TV screen, with eager patrons waiting to get in while the museum's employees—decked in specially-tailored red and yellow jackets—patiently answered their questions and manned the striped red and yellow barricade ropes that currently prevented the public from just waltzing into the museum without permission. Superimposed over these scenes were still-shots of the three aforementioned delegates.
"Glory-hogs," muttered Axel.
Pretenders. That was all these people were, as far as he was concerned. The only reason these officials were hosting this reopening was to improve their social and political standing with the public. Oh, they might not come out and say it, but he knew better. He'd kept a close eye on their public appearances for a long time, and he'd become adept at spotting the art of putting on masks for the benefit of others. It was a skill he'd picked up from his dad, long ago, back when Axel was still a child.
Either you're the trickster, or you're the one gettin' tricked.
All his life, as far as Axel could recall, he'd been tricked multiple times. By his parents, who'd worn the pretense of being happily married for sixteen of the years he'd known them before affairs on both sides split them apart sourly; by his teachers, who'd only acted as though they cared about his development when in reality it was all part and parcel of their appointed-and-paid-for roles in the city's school curriculum; by the few girlfriends he'd had in the two years of high school education he'd stuck around for, who acted as though they actually liked him when the truth was that they'd rather have slept next to corpses. He would never forget how, one day, he'd been sent home early from school for getting into a fight with one of the football jocks, only to find his mother in a daring position with their newspaper delivery boy; how his eighth-grade math teacher heaped accolades and pep talks on him, only for him to overhear said teacher in a staffroom chat with other teachers sadly denigrating his chances of graduating; how, in ninth grade, this one mousy-looking girl agreed to be his girlfriend, only to dump him as soon as she'd caught the eye of the hockey team's goalie.
But never again.
He'd dropped out of school in tenth grade and gotten into a number of scrapes with the law, on and off, since then. At twenty-two years of age, he could say with honesty that in the last five years he'd gotten several convictions for robbery with aggravation, wounding, burglary, and being in possession of offensive weapons. Of course, there had been more arrests than convictions, but Axel's parents had been well-moneyed and he therefore had a sizeable fortune at his disposal. He could hire the slickest and most snake-tongued lawyers to get the majority of the charges dismissed, or, failing that, he could seek out the dirtiest cops in the Central City PD and give them an extra bonus on their otherwise pitiful monthly salaries in exchange for them "accidentally" losing critical evidence or changing a line or sentence here or there in witness statements. The times he did end up in prison, it was because some cops refused to accept a bribe, likely to project their own sense of righteousness on him.
But even his prison terms weren't as long as the law actually warranted. Officially, it was because his social enquiry reports always pointed out how he'd had trouble adjusting to his parents' split, how he'd spent his later teen years as an angry youth who didn't have the requisite guidance to steer him right, blah, blah, blah. Unofficially, even judges couldn't resist the allurement of two months' leave at the finest Caribbean resort, all expenses paid for them and their families or loved ones, in exchange for making sure his prison terms were light in contrast to the charges and that his accommodations during his sentences were agreeable to his tastes.
Even so, money can only do so much for a person, and Axel was the type of guy who'd get bored easily. It was almost routine now to go to court and then jail for the same kinds of offences—but he needed something else, something big, to make his day.
And this newscast, now, gave him an idea.
Either you're the trickster, or you're the one gettin' tricked.
His father's words came to his mind again, and immediately he thought of all the people he'd come into contact with, who were all con artists in their own way. The judges, lawyers and cops who accepted his bribes under the quiet, while openly proclaiming to be avatars of law and order…the civilians who claimed to care about each other but who would stab each other in the back at the drop of a hat…and now, this so-called hero who they claimed to be commemorating, the infamous Scarlet Speedster. What did anybody ever see in that guy, anyway? Just like every other so-called superhero past and present, the Flash only wanted the glory of the limelight and was duping his fans into giving it to him by pretending to care about them.
Axel stood up and turned off the TV. He'd show them. He'd show them all.
The official museum reopening was to start its ceremony at 10:30 a.m., another half an hour from now. Plenty of time to get to the museum, break in, do what he had to do, and still have five minutes to vamoose.
He'd been a slippery customer to the law before. Time to up it a notch…and bring this dead so-called hero's legacy down a peg in the process.
OOOOO
"Aaaaaaaaaand here we are, at the illustrious Flash Museum, weathered by age but still standing strong, a living testament to the legacy of Central City's most favorite son of all time!" Barry said cheerfully as the car pulled up in the parking lot.
"And behold, as the exhibits come to life and replay the Scarlet Speedster's most famous battles in his career," Jay added mockingly. "Stow it, Barry; we all know the story already. We LIVE in Central City, you know."
Laura stepped out of the car. "It's 10:25 now…we're a couple of minutes early," she observed.
"We're not the only ones," Barry pointed out, directing their attention to the crowd gathering outside the front steps and several news crews with their recording equipment at the ready. "And traffic on the highway was murder—it's like everybody was coming today!"
"Yeah, everybody who didn't have a life," Jay shook his head. "Er, present company excepted, Mom," he added hastily.
"Well, let's go join the crowd, boys," and Laura walked toward the entrance, with Jay and Barry following moments later.
Easing through the crowd, they managed to close the distance between them and the front steps somewhat, and were just in time to behold an elderly man emerging from the museum entrance. Pausing right in front of the specially-prepared speaking podium, he waved a hand and began to address them at the microphone, while journalists' hand-held cameras flashed and video-cameras began recording.
"Good morning, fair citizens of Central City! Flash Museum curator Dexter Myles here, at your service!" he spoke up, in a loud and clear voice that reached even the back of the throng. "In just a few more minutes our main speakers will come to address all of us on this, the 50th anniversary of this museum's first public opening…and why, look, here they come now!" and he straightened up and looked right to the back of the gathering.
Everyone turned in time to see a black limousine and several police cars coming into the parking area, stopping in the areas designated for them. Then several police officers alighted from the cars and stood on guard, even as the limo's chauffer now stepped out and opened the back door for his passengers. Three persons exited the limo, all snappily dressed: a tall man with reddish-brown hair and clad in a blue suit with matching tie; a dark-haired woman in a peach-colored skirt-suit; and a dark-skinned, heavy-set man with a military crew-cut hairstyle, wearing a brown suit and sporting a frown on his face.
"Look, there's Dad," whispered Barry, pointing out the first man.
"And the mayor and the District Attorney," added Laura.
Making their way through the crowd and past the barricade rope, accompanied by a few officers, the trio of delegates joined Curator Myles on the steps. "Now that everyone's here, we can begin," the curator continued, looking pleased. "Now, let us begin our proceedings with a word of prayer, to be delivered by our police commissioner, Maxwell West. Sir?"
"Thank you, Dexter," said Commissioner West, stepping up to the podium amidst the applause that greeted him from the people. "Now, everyone, let us have a brief word of prayer for the proceedings…"
Heads were bowed politely and eyes were closed as the commissioner offered prayer for the ceremony.
"Very well," Curator Myles took his position at the microphone again once the prayer was over. "And now, let me introduce our very own mayor to speak to us at this time—Ms. Jasmine Russell!"
Again there was applause while the mayor stepped up. "Good morning, friends and citizens," she began. "Fifty years ago today, this museum was opened for the city's public in honor of our area's resident superhero, the Flash. Although we were never privileged to learn who the man was behind the mask, one thing we do know: without him, our city—and by extension, our world—would not be standing today. Countless times we owe our lives to his tireless efforts to fight crime and villainy within our borders; countless times he fought for us when we could not fight for ourselves."
There was some nodding from the older members of the crowd, many of whom no doubt recalled how the scarlet-clad hero had often rushed along the city streets to protect them against some threat or other.
"Tragically, the Flash, along with several other noted heroes of the time, sacrificed everything to save the world from the near-apocalypse of 2009," added Mayor Russell. "Yet his legacy continues to live, not only in this museum, but in the hearts of those still living who remember his actions, and in the minds of those who have only heard of him from those who have lived before him. For fifty years, the museum has stood as a testament to him…and today, with this reopening, we say 'Happy anniversary, Flash'! May your memory never die."
Mayor Russell straightened up. "And with that, I hereby declare the Flash Museum, on this its 50th anniversary, officially reopened!" she announced, to a burst of approving applause from the crowd.
OOOOO
"Check this stuff out!" Barry exclaimed, wide-eyed, as museum staff guided the visitors to the different exhibits. "There's definitely some new schway stuff here since last time we came!"
"Certainly looks that way, dear," Laura agreed, glancing around. "See, over there, isn't that the Pied Piper in a different outfit from his traditional get-up?" indicating a mannequin of a red-haired man in a green-and-white bodysuit.
"Sure is!" Barry agreed. "And over here, they put up a holographic display of Flash's first race with Superman! They even show you the whole thing from start to finish, the path they ran that day, how they fought the Weather Wizard en route—everything!"
Trailing behind them, Jay looked incredibly bored. "Someone slag me," he muttered under his breath.
"Laura! Boys! I didn't expect to see you here!"
Turning, the family beheld Commissioner West approaching them. "Hello, dear," Laura greeted him.
Maxwell, in turn, kissed her on the cheek. "I take it you're all enjoying yourselves?" he asked.
"Well, I've gotten one birthday present so far—seeing this museum revamped like this on its 50th anniversary reopening," replied Laura. "Barry's idea."
"Yeah!" Barry readily admitted. "Pretty good coincidence that the museum's anniversary syncs with Mom's birthday, huh? It totally rips!"
"Well, it's good you're enjoying yourselves so far," said Maxwell. He then regarded his other son. "How about you, Jay?"
"Eh, it's so-so for me," Jay shrugged. "Not my thing, you know."
"Aw, be a buzz-kill, why don't you? How can you NOT be psyched by all this?" Barry exclaimed, waving his arm at the exhibits.
"Same way I'm not psyched by your boring career choice, remember?" Jay needled him.
"Come now, boys, no fighting," Maxwell stepped in between them. "And sorry, Barry, but I do have to side with your brother—not about your career goal, mind you, because heaven knows we could use some CSI guys who're as keen to detail as you—but the only reason I'm here today is because I was asked to be in attendance by the mayor. Otherwise I'd be catching crooks from my office, ha-ha!"
"I bet if the Flash was still around, you'd have an even easier time catching crooks, Dad," said Barry.
Maxwell shrugged. "The city holds him in high esteem because of his past record, but the fact remains, even back then he was an unsanctioned vigilante operating outside the dictates of the law. No matter how much public support he had, if I was commissioner back then I'd have to arrest him, according to what the law says. That's just how the cookie crumbles."
"Well, let's just be glad we have all this memorabilia to remember the Flash by," Laura said warmly. "Will you stick around, dear?" she asked her husband.
"Sorry, but I have to get back to work just now," Maxwell answered. "But don't worry, Laura dear, after I get home from the office you'll get my birthday gift to you, without fail. Boys, keep your mother company, will you? I have to go now." And with that, he turned and left.
"Same old Dad," said Barry. "Rarely a spare moment with him."
"Oh, never mind, dear—you know your father does the best he can with his schedule," said Laura.
"Guess you walked a mile in his shoes to be able to say that, huh, Mom?" asked Jay.
"Something like that," said Laura.
"Well, anyway, what're we waiting for? Let's check out the rest of the exhibits!" Barry urged them.
"You guys go ahead—I'll catch up," Jay waved them away. "I'll just be over here, by the vending machines, looking for something interesting to do."
"All right, but we meet back at the car in an hour, okay?" Laura advised him.
"Sure thing, Mom. Later!" And Jay stalked off.
"Okay, Mom, let's check out the Captain Boomerang exhibits! Those are so cool!" Barry urged his mother.
OOOOO
Mingling with the crowd, Axel Walker grinned even as his grip on his backpack's strap tightened. Everything he needed was already here and waiting for him in the museum, and he only needed to find the specific location where they were stored. He also had some additional things in the pack, stuff he'd spent time working on in between his periods in jail.
For all that he'd dropped out of school, he had at least picked up some useful stuff in his chemistry and machine shop classes. Those skills were put to the test in the development of his little toys, and he figured the other things that the museum housed would provide whatever else he currently didn't have. Now if only he could find what he needed…
OOOOO
Wandering around, Jay glanced at the various exhibits. There was one of the legendary Scarlet Speedster punching out two of his most notorious foes, the Weather Wizard and Captain Cold…there was another of the same speedster in a victorious pose…and over there was a holographic image of said speedster in running motion. Then there were a few displays of different costumes that the Flash or some other speed-related hero had worn, ranging from the familiar red and yellow to white and blue or purple and gold.
As he looked around, his eye caught something that the other patrons were virtually ignoring: a doorway with two lines of big yellow tape obstructing the entrance, bearing the words CAUTION and NO ENTRY in bold black letters. "Hmm? Well, now, wonder what's in there?" Jay whispered to himself.
Casually walking in the direction of the door, Jay leaned against the wall, watching to see if anybody had seen him. Satisfied that everyone else was too preoccupied with the exhibits, he turned and tried the handle on the door…and was pleased to see it open without a sound. "Heh…this'll be more fun than this boring get-together, for sure," he chuckled to himself as he slipped under the warning tapes and went inside.
OOOOO
Axel's eyes widened in pleasure. There they were! Stashed in one specific area, like most of the other themed exhibits, were the objects he wanted…only, there were several patrons milling around. But they wouldn't pose a problem for him; he was already too skilled a thief. And it helped that he had some additional ammunition to deal with trouble.
Opening a small partition on his backpack, he pulled out a handful of marbles. These would come in handy to momentarily blind the eyes of the people, he knew. And he had just the thing to protect himself from the flash-bang effect, too…
OOOOO
Jay found himself heading down a staircase, unlit save by the light shining from the few windows there were inside. It was a fairly long descending staircase, but he soon ended up on the landing, where there was a large door. "Hmm. I wonder what the odds are that this thing's locked?" he asked aloud. "Eh, probably just some boring old files stashed away in here…ah well, if that's what it is, we'll soon see, won't we?"
He tried the door handle—and it promptly unlocked, and with a triumphant flourish he pushed the door open. "Let's see what the folks are hiding down here!" he chuckled, stepping in.
Now he was in a single room with lots of empty space…but as he looked around and his eyes got accustomed to the relative darkness, he noticed that there were several costumes neatly stashed to one side. Several he recognized as replicas of the Flash's outfit, while others were used outfits worn by the hero's villains of old, copies of the ones on display upstairs. "Okay, a storage room," he sighed and shrugged. "Well, so much for it being more fun than upstairs…"
Then his eye caught something else. "Hmm?"
Next to the costume pile-up, on a mannequin stand, there was a Flash suit. Only, this one wasn't like any of the others on the floor or even like the ones on public display upstairs…this one had some slightly different aesthetics to it. Its cowl was different, for one, more resembling a helmet and missing the lightning-bolt earpieces familiar to the costume's cowl; the belt was of a completely different design from the traditional lightning-bolt belt that the usual costume had, though its design did point slightly downward like its predecessor; and it bore golden-yellow wrist-length gloves instead of the lightning-bolt designs on the usual costumes' wrists. Yet the boots were similar, despite a slight design difference, and there on the chest was the familiar yellow lightning bolt on a white circle.
Jay cocked an eyebrow as he studied the suit. Normal Flash costumes, like the ones on display upstairs and those on the floor down here, appeared to be made of the infamous spandex material; this one, designed as one whole connected suit that could seemingly be slipped into and zipped up easily, seemed to be a queer mix of spandex and circuitry, with some little fine golden lines running here and there that reminded him of that one classic movie he'd once seen when he was younger, Tron. And unlike the other suits in this room, this one, while slightly dusty from being in storage, looked brand new and didn't seem to have been down here as long as the rest of the items.
"Hmm…what's the appeal all about, anyway, huh?" Jay asked the suit. "Everybody practically idolizes you in spite of your being dead all these years."
Then he shook his head. "What am I saying? I'm actually talking to a costume! I need to get my head examined."
He paused. He cocked an eyebrow at the suit. Then he looked behind him, toward the doorway he'd used to enter this place, and then back at the suit again.
And then a weird idea came to him as he recalled what he'd said to his mother moments earlier.
Guess you walked a mile in his shoes…
OOOOO
"Hmm?"
Dexter Myles, walking amidst the visitors to the museum, couldn't help but notice that something seemed off about that one door he'd put the warning signs in front of to keep out undue intruders. While there was nothing dangerous down there per se, recently he'd acquired a brand-new custom-tailored Flash jumpsuit, donated by a Mr. Jones three months ago, who'd told him to make sure that that suit was never put in any danger of being stolen by anyone. Granted, aside from a few aesthetic design differences, the suit didn't seem much different from all the others currently on display here, but Mr. Jones had put special emphasis on this suit being safeguarded for some reason…and since a lot of credits were paid for this to be accomplished, while he was still curious, Curator Myles wasn't about to complain.
So why was the door ajar?
Curator Myles shook his head. Probably some youngster who'd decided to go snooping around for kicks. Well, he might be old, but he was still the curator. He'd show the little punk a lesson or two. He just hoped he'd remembered to lock the other door further downstairs, where the suit was stashed along with some other old costumes.
Carefully easing the door open, he slipped underneath the warning tape and quietly crept downstairs. And his worst fears were realized: the storage door was ajar. Cursing himself for becoming so careless at his age, the curator stepped as lightly as he could down the stairs, walked up to the door, and peeked in.
And there was a young man in the room, actually trying on the very same suit Mr. Jones had warned him not to let get stolen, slipping it on over his own clothes and zipping it up. "Hmm…trying on this stupid suit, and I still don't see what the appeal of a dead superhero is," the guy was muttering to himself.
"What do you think you're doing, boy?" Curator Myles demanded.
"Huh?" The interloper spun around fast, clearly startled at having been interrupted. "Hey, hey, easy, old man, I didn't mean any trouble!" he exclaimed, zipping away to the other side of the room in a split-second.
Zipping away to the other side of the room in a split-second.
Curator Myles stared. His eyes must have been deceiving him. Nobody could move that fast—at least, nobody he knew of since the Scarlet Speedster of years gone by. And the youngster in this suit looked just as baffled at what had just happened as he himself did.
The youth was the first to break the silence. "Uh…what was that?"
The curator found his voice. "Boy…what did you do? How'd you move that fast?"
"How should I know? All I did was put on the suit!" the youth replied.
The gears moved rapidly in Curator Myles's mind. Is this why that Mr. Jones character was so insistent that this suit not be stolen? Can it be that this suit is…somehow special in its own way?
CHA-KOOM!
As one, the two men's heads swerved upward. "What on earth?" Curator Myles began.
OOOOO
Glass shrapnel flew in numerous directions as patrons screamed and bolted in a frantic effort to escape the explosion. As smoke billowed from the display area where the blow-up had occurred, police officers and museum staff alike frantically tried to bring back some semblance of order, but the fear of the people mixed with their desire to escape and not be killed overrode all such efforts. Then, from the direction of the blinding smoke, banana peels inexplicably flew out and landed in random places, causing rushing patrons to slip on them and crash into one another, stumbling to the floor in confused, yelling heaps.
Startled at the initial blast, Mayor Russell and D.A. Wolfe found themselves accosted by members of their police guard. "Ma'am, sir, come with us quickly," one cop urged.
"Good thing Max left already—maybe we should've followed his lead!" Wolfe said gruffly.
Then, above the din of the escaping civilians, loud and riotous laughter could be heard. "Leaving already, Mr. Wolfe? I thought you'd want to stick around and witness how much I've leveled up to the next extreme!" a voice shouted.
"That voice…" Wolfe's face hardened. "Axel Walker, is that you? I'd know your voice anywhere, you little punk! Come out here now!"
"If you insist…" Then, out of the smoke the miscreant stepped. He was clad in bright orange camouflage pants, a blue-and-yellow sleeveless vest over an orange T-shirt, dark blue gloves, and blue-and-white sneakers. He wore a blue domino-mask over his eyes, and on his mouth was a hyena-like grin. "Like my handiwork? I came up with it on the fly, but it's pretty effective, I think."
"Just a couple more charges to add to your rap sheet, Walker—malicious destruction of property and creating public mischief," Wolfe growled at him. "Officers, arrest that man!"
The policemen promptly pulled their side-arms and took aim at Axel. "On the ground now! Hands on your head! Do it NOW!" one snapped.
Instead of complying, however, Axel immediately pulled a back-flip and headed right into the smoke from which he'd come. Landing where the police couldn't see him, he reached into his jacket and unveiled a little toy rat which he quickly wound up. Setting it on the floor, he sent it rushing at the police—and as they stared at it in confusion, the fake rat opened its mouth and promptly unleashed an ear-piercing sonic screech that caused the cops to drop their guns and grab their ears, dropping to their knees while screaming in pain.
Also holding their ears in agony, Wolfe and Mayor Russell were too distracted to notice Axel calmly walking over, pulling out what appeared to be a water-pistol from his coat, and spraying both them and the downed officers with a pink-looking gunk. Then he bent down, picked up the little toy rat and deactivated it—and removed a pair of earphones from his ears. "Gotta love pop music when sonic vibrations threaten to wreck your ears," Axel joked.
Relieved that the sonic noise had stopped, the officers attempted to get up again—but to their surprise, they couldn't move, as the pink stuff they'd been sprayed with held them fast like iron. "Ugh! What is this stuff?" they exclaimed in confusion.
"A bit of liquid bubble-gum glue, straight from the storage of my namesake's toys," Axel answered smugly.
Mayor Russell stared disbelievingly at him. "Your…namesake?"
"Got that right," Axel chuckled. "This city knows me as Axel Walker already…but now…from this day forward, I'm gonna be known as the Trickster!"
OOOOO
Standing at the door to go back to the museum, Jay and Curator Myles looked on in astonishment at the wild-haired guy making his pronouncements. "The Trickster? He's naming himself after one of the Flash's oldest enemies? How presumptuous!" Curator Myles whispered indignantly.
"Well, he's sure living up to the name. I mean, seriously, liquid bubble-gum glue?" Jay shook his head.
"Don't underestimate those things—the Trickster may have used joke items in his day, but they could be incredibly lethal," the curator told him. "Look at how he incapacitated the police with that toy rat! Even now my ears are ringing…" and he put a hand to one ear, wincing a little.
Jay's eyes narrowed. "Somebody's got to stop that dreg before he does any more damage," he said stoutly. "I'm going in."
"You?" Curator Myles looked incredulously at him. "But what can you do?"
"Hey, I've got this suit, don't I?" said Jay, indicating the Flash costume he was still wearing. "Somehow it lets me run real fast. That should give me an edge over that guy. And anyway, the cops sure can't do anything, the mayor and the D.A. are hostages, everybody else has run out, and who else is gonna fight him—you?"
"Look here, boy—"
"Jay."
"Okay, fine then, Jay. We've only just found out what that suit can do, and you've clearly never used anything like it before. You're jumping into untested waters here!" Curator Myles pressed. "Suppose you can't control it?"
"I'll just have to wing it," answered Jay. "Better to do that than let him keep doing what he's doing."
Curator Myles frowned. "Well, if you're that determined, you may as well look the part one hundred percent. Put on your mask."
"Why the mask? I'm not afraid to show him who I am!" Jay argued.
"But do you want him to target your relatives to get back at you later?" Curator Myles gave him a look.
Jay considered this. "Hmm, good point. Fine, then." He pulled on the cowl, and at once the top half of his face was masked with opaque lenses over his eyes. "Well, here I go…"
OOOOO
"The Trickster?" Wolfe scoffed at Axel's self-naming. "Oh, please, kid. Anybody who knows about the Flash's history knows that the original Trickster at least had mental illness to explain his criminal actions. What's your excuse?"
"What excuse do I need? This city's full of tricksters already—I'm just the only one honest enough to openly act on it instead of acting like a hypocrite like the rest of you do!" Trickster replied.
"Hypocrite? What're you talking about?" Mayor Russell asked, baffled.
In response, Trickster spread his arms out to indicate the museum. "Look at this dump," he sneered. "You people kept it up all these years to honor a dead man. How do you know he wasn't tricking the whole lot of you—pretending to be a hero when all he was really doing was acting in his own interests? And for that matter, you people…" He pointed a finger at the two. "And others like you, too. You act so self-righteous, so holier-than-thou, using people and pretending to be their friends and to have their best interests at heart, and really you're laughing at them behind their backs while you spend their tax dollars to furnish your own lavish lifestyle and cut under-the-table deals with crooks for your own benefit! You scam society—so I'm just going to scam you first before you do it to me!"
"Oh, look, we have a saint in our midst," Wolfe said darkly.
"You know what, man? I've seen your face too many times at court and heard you talk a big game so often…well, let's see how big you are now!" Trickster intoned menacingly, reaching into his jacket and pulling out…an aerosol spray-can.
"Is that thing supposed to frighten us?" Wolfe asked with a snarl.
"Oh, I don't think you're in any position to be so high-and-mighty now, Wolfe, old buddy," said Trickster, shaking the can vigorously. "After all, who knows what kind of deadly substances can be in spray-cans these days…well, why don't I test this one on you?" And he held up the can, ready to spray Wolfe in the face—
—but suddenly a sharp gust of wind blew past him! "Whoa!" Trickster cried, managing to steady himself…and then he noticed his hand was empty. "Huh? Where'd it go?"
"Looking for this?"
Hearing the voice, Trickster looked up and beheld a scarlet-clad masked man, wielding the spray-can even as he leaned against the wall. "Who…?" the crook started.
Mayor Russell and Wolfe stared in astonishment at the new arrival. Even the cops, who up to this point had been struggling to free themselves from the pink gunk Trickster had sprayed on them, looked on with wide eyes. "I don't believe it…" Mayor Russell breathed.
"No way…" Wolfe blinked.
"If you're going to christen yourself the new Trickster, then allow me to introduce myself…as the new Flash," the scarlet newcomer addressed Trickster. He then tossed the spray-can away. "Now…let's dance, funny guy."
OOOOO
END CHAPTER 1
OOOOO
NEON MAJESTIC: And there you have it, folks. The prologue and opening chapter for this re-submitted story of mine are completed. Next chapter, the action begins.
This story is set one year after the Justice League Unlimited episode "Epilogue," where Terry McGinnis finds out about his real connection to Bruce Wayne. Since there's no mention of the Flash, or indeed of any speedster related to him, in the Batman Beyond timeline, I thought I'd take it up on myself to write a little story about a speedster of the Beyond era. There will be many mythology gags connected to the Flash comics, as well as continuity to the DC Animated Universe; however, the Justice League Adventures and Batman Beyond comics will not be treated as canon in this story.
Why have I decided to revisit this fanfic? Well, I made a note in my other currently ongoing fanfic, "Kitsune no Ken: Fist of the Fox," and its accompanying "Kitsune no Ken Gaiden" material, that that story would be my final fanfic that I'll ever be writing ahead of ultimate retiring from overall fanfic writing. But I really don't like having to leave things unfinished if I can help it, and even though I stopped writing this fic and my other fic "Velocity" due to certain convictions that came to me at the time, I want to try and give at least this one a proper send-off and conclusion if possible. So for those who were following "Velocity," please take note—I am considering to remove it, as well as my earlier works "Speed Force" and "Return of the Secret Society" from the site and use sections from all three of those stories to pad this one. Quality is better than quantity, I say.
Now, on to the next chapter! Coming up—the Flash goes into battle against the Trickster, with the lives of innocents in the balance! How will the city react to the appearance of this new Scarlet Speedster? And what more will Jay learn about the costume he now wears, which grants him the abilities of the original Flash—and, for all he knows, may also have other powers he knows nothing about? Next chapter—The Flash vs. The Trickster!
(Fresh acknowledgements must go at this time to fellow fanfic writer JaredMilne1982, whose ongoing work "Ultimate Spider-Woman: Change with the Light" inspired me to come up with the concept for this story, and whose advice was most helpful in developing the ideas for future chapters of this story.)