Barry Allen

Whiz.

I zipped through S.T.A.R. Labs in an instant before setting Regan down on the gray floor in (hopefully) one piece.

Once I came to a halt, I looked down at her in my arms (sounds funny . . . even almost romantic [not]).

"You okay?" I asked her, trying to suppress my grin.

She rubbed her forehead for a moment before giving him a look, "Scientifically speaking, wouldn't I have dissipated to dust by now?"

I rested my hands at my hips, giving her a short nod and a contagious smile, "Yeah . . . But the scientists outside of S.T.A.R. Labs don't know about me . . . specifically my supernatural speed."

She chuckled, "Indeed they don't."

We both smiled sheepishly at one another.

In the background from the hallway, we heard Cisco and Caitlin rushing over to the main atrium of the lab.

"Oh thank heavens you're here!" Cisco stated frantically as he ran over to where Regan and I were.

Regan and I immediately turned around to look at him.

"What's wrong?" I asked automatically, now in a serious mode.

"There's this-this-this," Cisco stammered out, flustered.

Caitlin helped him out, saying, as she walked briskly over to the computers to show us something on the projector, "This . . . short, stubby man dressed in . . . in . . . green and robbing banks and on killing sprees and . . . and . . . kidnapping children. And he keeps saying some sort of phrase in front of the security cameras before disabling them! He's freaky!"

Regan and I exchanged looks before Caitlin dimmed the room's lights to see what the projector had to offer.

On the screen displayed a short, stubby man dressed in a dark green suit, under which was a white dress shirt and topped off with a black bow tie. His shoes were polished to a perfect shine that glinted against the lights, hanging from the ceiling bars. The room the man was in was gloomy, dim, and was a hue of tinted cyan. Simply put, the atmosphere in both rooms (the man in green's and the room I was in at S.T.A.R. Labs) suddenly became eerie and scarier by the second.

The man in green began knocking out the guards guarding what seemed like a bank vault before using his arms to break the security guards' necks. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Cisco and Regan cringe at the action. Then, the man in green began to shuffle about before snagging out an empty, large golden-glittered bag out from his pocket. He then began to snatch messily hundreds upon hundreds of bundles of bills from the vault, swiftly filling up his sack with millions of dollars. After his sack was filled to the brim, the thief tied the end of the golden bag up, tossing it over his shoulder effortlessly, before finally noticing the camera at the end of the room. He punched the wall with strangely brute strength, taking out red and black wires from the wall, before chanting something.

"Why, hello there, Central City," the man in green smiled eerily as he stated so in a notable Irish accent. "Didn't see you there. Oh, you know, I was just . . . stealing several million . . . dollars before making my escape. You know how those like me are . . . full of mischief and puns and misery. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, they say . . . not like it has anything to do with the latter. But one thing is for sure:

You've run out of luck.

And if you're wondering about what to address me . . . Leprechaun . . . exactly a leprechauncan do. Good night, Central City."

With a tilt of his hat and a somewhat manly curtsy, the man so called "Leprechaun" ripped out the wires embedded in the vault's walls, cutting off the camera's footage entirely.

Regan Williams

"So," I muttered out loud. "Leprechaun, huh?"

"Fits him right too," Cisco remarked uncomfortably, biting his pen. "And here I was about to give him the nickname of GreenMan. Or, or, Golden Viridescent. Or, oh! That tall, green man in those pea or veggie commercials . . . Er, what's his name . . . Green Giant?"

Barry deadpanned as Caitlin sighed audibly.

Caitlin remarked critically, "And was it just me? Or was the guy totally blunt about the whole thing . . . I mean . . . He literally just told us his name, objective, and motive for doing what he's doing."

Barry raised an eyebrow, "The motive being . . ."

Caitlin replied in a heartbeat, lips shrugging, "He's basically a psychopath."

Barry shrugged his shoulders as if to agree, before saying, "True."

"But," Cisco emphasized. "He's a maniacal psychopath, meaning that he has to be pretty clever to elude all the police so far. Not to mention the fact that he managed to bypass cyber and physical security at Central City's most secure bank in the history of Central City banks."

"Yeah," I agreed reluctantly before shuddering at the memory. "Snapping the necks of those security guards . . . Not exactly the thoughts you want stuck in your mind."

"Yeah," Caitlin muttered under her breath. "Thank heavens there's still daylight outside, or else I would've died of fear."

Cisco teased nervously as he typed away at the computer board, attempting to hack into local satellite cameras and projections, "Mhmm, but don't worry . . . I'll protect you . . . Right?"

And I swear, in the next sixty seconds after those words were heard, crickets were chirping.

"Not a good joke," Barry stated his mind. "But okay . . ."

We all shuffled about nervously, before I asked, "Where's Dr. Wells?"

Everyone gave each other looks before Cisco muttered, "Very good question."

As Cisco was hacking, Caitlin rummaging the web for any previous cases regarding the so-called "Leprechaun," and Barry re-watching the recording of the Leprechaun's recent attack, I took the leisure of going out down the hallway to the bathroom, taking out my phone and researching what Leprechauns in general were like: their nature, likes and dislikes, habits, appearances, and so forth.

As much as I thought that Leprechauns were merely dandy midgets full of hubris, rainbows, and gold chips, they had a much farther darker history than I thought they'd ever have.

Leprechauns

(According to the extensive study undertaken by Irish historians, professors, and analysts)

Leprechauns are devious faerie dwarfs, who make their "living" as a shoemakers (especially make loafers) by day and atrocious thieves by night. If caught appropriately, they are forced, according to Irish folklore tacit law, to grant you eternal luck and fortune . . . and three wishes. However, before they are correctly caught, they have the ability to turn you into a frog, or maybe even a fly at their very own wills.

It is said that Leprechauns have their own pots of gold, hidden and riddled deep in the Irish countryside. It is their life force, and if taken away, would cause extreme agony and pain, writhing for its life. However, if the life force is burnt, the Leprechaun will wither away to dust.

If one were to outsmart a Leprechaun, however, he would either have to be a genius, or he will end up medically insane. Therefore, sometimes, it's not even worth catching a Leprechaun. You'd much rather just pass the creature and move onward with your life.

End of Text

I stared at my phone, recalling what the Central City Leprechaun stated earlier (if he even was a freaking Leprechaun).

"And if you're wondering about what to address me . . . Leprechaun . . . exactly a leprechaun can do. Good night, Central City."

The guy said, "exactly a Leprechaun."

Would that mean that all the attributes were the same? If conveniently according to this website?

I quickly rushed my way back to Barry, Caitlin, and Cisco in the main lab.

"H-hey, guys," I stammered out. "I think I have a . . . a theory."

Everyone's head turned my way, staring at me expectantly to say something.

"I looked up this, um, random website," I began my little speech, tousling my head nervously.

I was new-ish to the team, a mere contender/consultant. Why, I hadn't even accepted the job offered by Dr. Wells yet, but this theory of mine just seemed so surreal . . . yet . . . real.

"And I found a few attributes concerning Leprechauns— myths, if you will. And, if I remember correctly, the thief stated that he was 'exactly a Leprechaun.' This probably means that he gave us a hint, probably to grasp on. According to the files I've read, scratch that, hacked about Central City and their . . . odd sorts of cases, you've had a Trickster from the '90s . . . Roy G. Bivolo . . . Clyde Mardon . . . and so forth. All of them have had to do with their specific names. According to the S.T.A.R. Labs files I've read, however, Roy G. Bivolo's name had the colors of the rainbow freaking stuck in it. And, big 'surprise,' that's his superpower. And then Clyde Mardon . . . He was in an airplane when the particle accelerator blew up . . . and, then, he comes back a year later to have weather precipitation powers. Is this just a coincidence? No, it isn't, but you three all probably already know that."

The three of them nodded their heads, before Cisco nodded his head, "Yeah . . . just get to your theory . . ."

I did as I was told, "All of these guys have been asking, or literally begging, for attention. It's probably the case for this Leprechaun guy too. Leprechauns are shoemakers, who specifically make loafers, as their front, and thieves as their true nature. This Leprechaun guy might as well be a regular old loafer-maker guy as his front, but he secretly thieves by night.

My source also tells me that Leprechauns riddle their pots of gold in some sort of cache. Gold was the currency back then, but, now, the currency is paper dollars and bronze coins. So . . . He's probably hiding it somewhere of the sort. Leprechauns are bound to their pot of gold, so if the gold is destroyed, they fade to dust . . . in the myths. In this case, it probably means that, if we take away his entire cache of money, he will have no more left, since that's all the money he keeps to live, so he technically 'dies.'

There was this case several times in Starling City, where this creepy Vertigo guy would sell his drugs on the streets. The drugs, if applied directly into the bloodstream, would cause the victim to hallucinate and eventually become medically insane. It's probably the same for this Leprechaun, except, maybe he'll use clovers or whatever instead."

Barry, Caitlin, and Cisco just stared at me blankly.

Cisco grimaced, "No offense . . . Nice theory and all . . . but . . . it's all based on a myth. There's no . . . no . . . no . . . science behind it, you know?"

Caitlin bit her lip anxiously, as if she was afraid to respond to my theory, "Sorry, Regan, I have to agree with Cisco on this one . . . As much as it . . . makes somewhat sense . . . there's no evidence to back it. We're scientists . . . lab people . . . History-based theories just don't . . . flow with us."

Barry wrinkled his nose, before hesitantly agreeing with his teammates . . . in just differently-worded phrases, "Um, let's think of another theory, instead. You know? Just to have a taste for all the possibilities."

Right after those words were uttered, the voice of none other than Dr. Wells flooded the metallic room.

"Regan? A moment please?" the Doctor spoke serenely. It almost seemed as if he were speaking at my funeral.

More than ready to get out of the room, since I was basically just humiliated by three, of whom I thought were, friends, I followed Wells outside the main lab and into the corridor.

"Yes?" I asked him as he walked me to the elevator.

"I take back my offer for you to join S.T.A.R. Labs," he crossed his arms.

I was taken back. What? My science idol just asked me to join his team yesterday . . . and he's already taking back the offer?

I was at a loss for words, "Wh-why? May I ask?"

How come? I go to the bathroom, and come back . . . everything around me changes? Barry and the others suddenly don't like me, and . . .

He sighed, exhaling a deep breath, "I thought that you would work better with . . . Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin yesterday, but I was wrong. I was watching from outside the lab and noticed that your thought process compared to Barry's, Caitlin's, and Cisco's is . . . not to be outright rude or anything of the sort . . . not as revolutionary. The entire concept of meta-humans was considered surreal and impossible before the particle accelerator erupted. Now, look, at every other corner of the street of Central City, there might be a supernatural-powered human being, who's DNA is genetically re-structuralized into an entirely compartmentalized helix of unorthodox and innovative change. I don't think your mind is adaptively able to change your way of thinking to theirs. Sorry, Regan, I just don't think that this will ultimately work out . . . for both of our sides. Now . . . if you will leave and not say a word about Barry's alter ego existence to the world . . . oh, right, either way, just like that Leprechaun theory you just spluttered out . . . would be . . . medically, inducibly . . . insane."

I had no words to reply, as Dr. Wells tossed me my purse and gave me a mere wave of the hand, a goodbye, I suppose, before turning his wheelchair around as the elevator door in front of me was closing . . . but I couldn't help but catch a twitch of his foot move from the edge of his foot pad.

Dr. Wells

Once I had taken care of Regan, I quickly returned to the lab, where I stationed none other than Roy G. Bivolo himself by the door, lightly manipulating the emotions of Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin to sputter out meaner comments to Regan than intended.

I had to get rid of Regan. I had no other choice. If the future was to remain intact, I had to have complete control of every scenario. She was the variable I didn't expect. I had only wanted the team to simply consist of Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin . . . And Regan was the factor I did not anticipate. I had to get rid of her. No matter what the cost. Now, if I put up her hopes for getting a position at S.T.A.R. Labs and crushed it, it would ruin her. Also, if I turned Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin against her . . . the effects upon Regan would double dramatically, and she would not desire any contact with either Cisco, Barry, or Caitlin. Emotions . . . it is so interesting how something invisible such as this . . . can be the sole factor to crush someone at its finest.

I rolled over to Bivolo, who simply stood there, shortly chained to the wall's railing.

"You promised me that I would be able to leave after I took care of your team," he snarled. "I want out now."

I looked at him calmly, "About that."

With that being said, I took out a shot injector from my wheelchair's pocket and admired its content. Violet liquid strained the cubicle of the injector.

Bivolo raged silently, "Wh-what is that? Where is my freedom?"

"One question at a time, Bivolo," I chuckled heartlessly. "Fifty milliliters of barbiturate Penothal . . . It induces medical-purposeful comas, that should last . . . twenty-four hours. And, not to mention, you will forget everything you have done in the last hour, my friend, thanks to an additional ten milliliters of atorvastatin."

Bivolo stared at the injector, "You wouldn't do that to me. I just helped you."

I smiled at him contently, "Which is exactly why I won't just kill you here and now."

"No, you can't kill me," he muttered. "Your team will find out that I somehow, strangely die, and probably will . . . investigate it . . ."

"Exactly," I smiled at him, angling my fingers to stab the man before me in several seconds. "As clever and un-useful to me as you are . . . I still need you alive."

Then I inoculated Bivolo with the concentration, rendering him unconscious several moments later, crumpling to the ground like a host doll in a toy store.

With my super speed, I quickly ran him to the pipeline, locking him up, before returning to my wheelchair in the corridor before the main laboratory.

Subsequently, I entered the main lab to only find that Barry, Caitlin and Cisco were still recovering from the effects of Bivolo's mental manipulation.