Interval #10
Volume 1. Story 8.
Hell is in the Details
If you've watched the Zeta Project, well, I enjoyed it and couldn't help but tie it in somehow.
In a single second, over ten miles had been covered on foot. To the common man this would be an extraordinary feat but for a speedster such as Interval it was nothing more than a leisurely jog, the stretching of legs in the early hours of the sun dipped cloudy day. The thick blades of grass that filled the fields of the outer city departed from their staunch ground support with the passing of each trampling foot, their crooked recoil to return to their upright stance inevitably becoming caught up in the pulling wake of his body. He was tall amongst his peers though not gangly in any strict sense, holding quite a fit physical frame that was perhaps in part gained through his connection to the illustrious Speed Force; his source energy for super speed. The defining scarlet red colour so embedded within the grandmaster of speed himself, The Flash, was a prominent part of this young speedster's costume, being that he was a far off distant relative. It was present in his shin high, shin conforming boots, his full fingered gloves that meagrely reached beyond his wrists and were tied down by two thick black straps, his full cowl piece that left only his mouth exposed, and the chest encompassing triangular piece that began along the ridges of his shoulders and diagonally cut on a narrowing path towards the centre of his waist line where it closed off with a flat head, breaking off to either side into a thin chain of lightning shaped cords that rode around like a belt. The rest of his suit was composed of a solid black. His ears were fitted with small silvery saucers from which an inch and a half long bolt of yellow lightning blistered off to the back of his head while his eyes were protected by goggle pieces tinted to a light yellow. The oft considered essential feature of the Flash, the logo, was a feature present at the centre of his chest; a circular of white within a raised black boundary line with a thick bolt of yellow streaking from one side down a diagonal line to another.
Contained within the lush of these dense spacious grass fields and sparsely wooded forests rungs that the hero dashed through and around was the West home, a classically furnished building that he had come to closely regard as a safe haven so long as he was company to this foreign era, the spurious identity of the twenty first century as opposed to the coherent straightness of his own twenty eighth century. The two story home itself was moderately long from the front but was admirably well in depth along the sides even though they were considerably shorter. The entirety of the first floor's front wall was pushed back several feet to produce a cumbersome dark wood porch setting that calmly sat beneath a straight lined overhanging roof as supported by a number of solid wood pillars. The only deviation from an otherwise flat face was an even sided trapezoid shaped pillar like construct to one side of the house which carried within its front broad side, at least in so far as the first floor was concerned, the large living room window. Above this window and the flat topped roof that towered atop the porch, the pillar departed from its solidity to create a sizable balcony space whose solid wood hand rail capped off at about stomach level. Two squared pillars sat atop the balcony's rail, one to each outer corner, carrying on their backs a triangular pointed top that slid back against the full body roof of the house which held a similar triangular shape only that it greatly eclipsed it in size for its centre point line ran from one side of the house to the other. A sliding door system was installed at the back of the balcony, currently closed and curtained with solid white just as it was so with the other block like windows so evenly aligned with one another across the rest of the home space. The home was painted a lukewarm kind of brown save for the wood of the porch's pillars, the window trims, the front door and its accompanying frame, and the three step stairwell that led up to the centre of the house towards the door, all of which were painted a burnt auburn. Two lines of wooded patches ran long either side of the home blocking view of the neighbours, providing them with a semblance of privacy they so often required with their lightning fast movements.
Up the three steps to the porch and a split second later he was inside the house having successfully vibrated all the molecules of his body to pass through the solid face of the door seamlessly. On his immediate left from just inside the doorway was a wall that nearly spanned the breadth of the house, cut off from full touch ahead by a bypassing wall that protected the inlet where the stairwell was enfranchised. There was also a slight hiccup to its complete smoothness all the way across: an entrance way to the kitchen. Two dark wood dressers, noted for their glossed pearl like smoothness and gold brushed palm grasping handles, lined along the wall with about a foot space in between each other. Their multiple drawers were most probably empty if not filled with random knick knacks whose purposes were lost to time; however, their tops were reasonably cluttered. Pictures spanning the lifetime of the West family were emplaced upon their tops; Jai, the muscle bound dark haired son, played a prominent role from youth to graduation as did his sister, the flamboyant red headed Iris although less frequently. Other photos were fitted along the wall following to the right of the stairwell entrance in addition to a clean topped cabinet of a value considerably lighter than that of the dressers. Its dual doors had windows emplacements thereby revealing within their containment an assortment of special plates and other dishes that were unified under one shared aspect: lack of use. The living proper began to his right with a step down from the hard wood floor to the soft white carpet, leading into a region composed of mostly thick plush couches whose green flavour fit amicably with the auburn brown taste of the walls. The couches were fitted into a square surrounding that of a cobblestone pillar that appeared very much like an old fashioned fireplace save that the fireplace portion was replaced with a modestly large flat screen television screen.
With his body returning to the natural flow of time upon a sound flat footed stop, he slipped two fingers beneath his mask, so as to cover both sides of his nose, and pulled upwards to reveal his unkempt blonde hair and creamy brown eyes which he proceeded to utilize in his survey of the living room and its accruements. When he wasn't running across the earth at excessive speeds, he was Jace Allen, an identity that was every bit as comparable in challenges to his life as Interval. The impeccable silence of surroundings seemed to suggest that he was alone this morning, a thought not too disturbing or unexpected given the usual work related reasons for why Jai and Iris would be out but when the phone rang with its illustrious chirp, he could not help but cry out one of their names, "Jai?" The continued moan of the phone beckoned him forward, slowly furthering himself into the house with ears syncing in on the waves of sound, inevitably taking him to the hallway mouth to his left side. "Jai?" he called out once more as his head turned in around the corner of the stunted hallway leading to the kitchen. He saw ahead of him the smaller dining room table, capable of sitting no more than six around its rectangular perimeter, with the simple flat grey box, the phone, sitting atop of its back. He was all but ready to rush to grab it after the sixth ring but declined his legs' desire to move for he rationalized after a split second of deliberation that a message saved to the answering machine would perhaps be more so beneficial to Jai or Iris than if he were to receive it and fumble in his reasoning for picking it up in the first place. But after the eighth ring, he began to wonder if there was even such an option on the table. At the ninth ring his eye brows quivered and his feet began to slowly but surely shuffle forward with the oncoming wave of curiosity.
The soft plastic state of the box like receiver rattled against the sides of its base when both of his hands furiously went to work upon it. The touch against his ear, along with that of his own voice, was beyond cold. "Hello."
"Jace Allen." The voice that shook through the speaker was inhumanly deep, filtered no doubt through some kind of augmentation device intended to cloak its user in the wretches of anonymity; however, considering that only so few people knew of his presence in this era, let alone the West home, discerning an identity was well within narrow walls of reasoning, still, it didn't hurt to ask.
"Who is this?" Jace tightened his grip around the squared edges of the phone as he leaned in his free hand against the table top where his eyes had spaced out into its glistening softwood material.
"Jace Allen." The voice continued to bellow. "I've found the way."
"Found the way?" Jace proceeded to enter a state of puzzlement.
"Found the way home."
Jace's straightened up his back as he allowed himself to blink for the first time since picking up the phone, "home?" he prodded for greater clarification.
"The twenty-eighth century. You can restart your experiment from the pivotal access point."
"What are you talking about?" Jace suddenly snapped into speed speak.
"The twenty-eighth century." The voice repeated. "I know we believed that Max Mercury had either covered or broken off all access ways through the Speed Force. But there is one. The one I've created. But I need your help to sustain it."
"What? You've done what?" Jace winced, "who is this?" his usual monotone cracked, becoming stern with a second attempt to affirm an identity with a single, decidedly simple question. This time however, he recognized himself to be completely shattered of any preconceived notion that he might know whom it was he was talking to and as such felt numb, strangely out of touch with his own being. It was knowledge that could only be ascertained through questioning but with the reluctance of this voice to heed his prodding, it was likely he would be left without answers, a truly irritable state of mind for a compulsive one such as his.
"I'll provide you with passage. But first I need you to do something for me." The voice continued without a moment's break to breath.
"What did you create?" Jace turned to pleading.
"I need you to go to this address. 1553-4U Manapul Road."
"That's a local address," Jace shook his head, "who are you?" he made one last, desperate attempt.
"You've done a very fine job so far in keeping yourself out from the public eye, especially given recent activity. That was very wise of you. But not entirely unnecessary." The voice's compliment passed unrecognized by Jace; he was far too involved with the tenor of the voice, in search of any imperfections. "Don't give up just yet on your goal. I'm counting on you."
"Hello?" Jace cried out with a whimper but to no response. The phone had gone silent and he was once again alone to his own thoughts.
The indicated address brought him to a plot of land that held in common many aspects with the West's yard. The blades of grass were fleshed out to a most desirable length and sported a spattering array of green shades, all of which sprouted from a marsh like layer that fermented beneath the soles of his foot, each step becoming buried in its soft dark soil. The trees were smartly furnished in their pine leaves, their wooded basses forming something of a forest strip along the sides of the field's focus, that being a single part house which at its best could only be properly described as a ramshackle of a mess. From the outside it was a single floor rectangular shaped building, long along the broadsides while almost miniscule in depth; there couldn't be more than three decently sized rooms within. Its sides were comprised of wood aligned into planks about a foot thick, each successive one from the ground being ever so slightly atop the one below thereby creating quite the angled texture. The roof opted for coarse black tiles all laid down on an angle towards the front of the house, a straight lined right angle therefore being at its support at the back. It could be imagined that at some point in its prime this building was painted in a pristine tone of white but several decades had certainly taken its toll and most of that imagined pristine flavour had turned sour with splotches of yellow and scuffs marks of black all through its form.
As he approached the building he could not help but find himself within the shade of the absolutely garish looking tree planted to the house's side. It was alone in its distinction to the forest, not only for its close proximity to the house but also in its make, being something of a heavy oak tree more akin to sprouting leaves than pine needles. Those leaves, however, did not exist. The tree was old and grey, weary and decrepit, appearing as though it had not spread its bloom in many a seasons but of that, it needed not its leaves or vigour in its bark to make its lasting impression for its branches were solid in their snake like appeal, weaving up into the sky with criss-crossing tails that inevitably came to form a globe of mangled arms whose job it was to blot out the sky of which it did handsomely.
About two thirds to his right, within the frame of the house, was the front door. Its dark wood façade inspired a strength that did not exist, being nothing more than a hollow construct poorly fitted within rubber lines of the frame. The round brass door knob was no exception to house's overall form, its metal tone showing signs of severe wear, faded at the top of its point and along the sides of which fingers were expected to wrap. As the young speedster stepped up to this door, he became uncertain as to whether he should knock first or proceed to enter, deliberating that decision with his eyes transfixed upon the knob. With a light grasp and a twist, the door swung inward with a deafening creak.
The interior was dark, not a single window along the sides to provide lighting thus forcing him to rely upon what little illumination the open door provided. What he could discern was that the largest portion of the house, that being to left side from just inside the door, was a single room that was consistently barren through to all its corners. His right side however was protected by a wall that spanned across the floor with only a brass knobbed door to its name no more than a stride away from its front outdoor facing brother. There was only one furnishing to this place, a table, and upon this table was a phone not all too dissimilar to the box grey plastic one at the West's home. He was understandably startled when the phone unleashed a volley of rings, the shock of its suddenness and the disease of its mysterious randomness all playing havoc on his shattered, at least for the moment, confidence of mind. He restrained himself admirably as he stepped up towards the table, calmly pawing one hand upon the receiver, "hello?" he coldly whispered.
"Jace Allen." That deep augmented voice returned in force. "It is good that you have made it so soon. I have something I need you to do for me."
"Who is this?" Interval cried.
"I need you to go to the basement."
"Why?" his breaths became shallow as he uneasily shook from the supporting strength of one leg to the other as was needed to calm his nerves.
"The basement Jace. The door to your right."
He stubbornly turned to look to the door signified by the voice.
"I need you to go to the basement Jace. Take the first tool you see."
He nodded to the orders as though he were being watched.
"Then go back to the yard. Find the old oak tree. Dig in."
He waited for the voice to continue but with the elapse of several seconds passing in numb silence he admitted with a dissatisfied sigh that the eerie conversation was over and done with. After holstering the phone on its base, he made his way towards the basement door with a struggling walk, either having forgotten the unparalleled speeds at which his feet could move or forcibly restricting himself in order that there be as much precaution as possible in his approach; he would be ready, that was certain. He clasped his hand around the door's brass knob when in reach and twisted it with just enough force to unlatch its interior mechanisms. Every step down the aged wooden stairwell elicited a pressured moan and distanced from its crevices an expanse of dust that tickled his tongue with dryness. He reached his outer hand for the wall in an attempt to acquire some balance as he continued the descent into dark dwelling hole that was the basement, fingers dragged down its coarse concrete face till they had encounter what felt to be a small metal switch box with his final step to the floor. A simple tip of his index finger and the thick plastic switch flipped upwards. In a near instance the basement dwelling was provided with some adequate lighting in the form of a single bulb hovering beneath a black saucer plate that hung from the ceiling by way of a slithering thin lined chain. It could have been refreshing, a source of a light for a place so usually steeped in darkness, but on this occasion, all it did was sought to remind the room of its barrenness, the coldness of its shallow grey floor and encompassing walls.
It was there. A tool used for digging, a shovel, leaning up against the wall just a few steps forward of the stairs. Its wooden handle was long, firm and glossed over in a preservative while its metal head was cleanly washed to shine and shaped like a wide brimmed spade; perhaps it was the only thing in decent shape on this entire lot. He pulled his hand from the wall and clutched the tubular handle and in the same movement returned his attention to up back the stairs. He retraced his steps outside and started over towards that haunting tree, its arms blotting out the cloud covered sky. He slammed the point of the spade ended shovel into the marsh of grass just a few steps shy of the tree's trunk. One stab after another, moist soil arose up within the spade head's low level basin and was summarily chucked in behind him to create a disorganized mess of mush. The chips of tree roots and grass blades mixed in the moist soil began to look like human sinew over the course of thirty or so loads. When he gave greater recognition to the spoils of human fresh, he discovered just why.
The body was lacking in any substantial meat; thin, frail, gangly, shrivelled…elements ascribable to this disturbing find. The body was cold in its features. Colours outside of the standard slate grey pigmentation were only those in the extremities of that standard shade and were sparsely located in its face; a heavy brush of baby blue along the lips and chapped white on the cheeks and below the eyes like half-moons. The hair was long and dark in addition to being coarse and diseased, the results of having been buried in a layer of dirt for what must have been over a month. The primary option of clothing was dirt stained white lab coat that buttoned up several times along the centre line of the torso and curved around the cut off line of the knees. When Interval had found something silvery shined on the body's chest, he tossed the shovel to the side and dropped to his knees, using his hands to part away the rest of the dirt from the body all while avoiding its sightless white glare and yawning mouth. "Tristan Cuthbert," he mumbled to himself as his thumb swept away the smudges of the name tag, "Tristan Cuthbert," he repeated, reading aloud the black lined lettering. "Tristan Cuthbert," he repeated one more time as though he was afraid of forgetting.
"Jace?" a static laced cry of his name caught the young speedster off guard. He immediately jumped up onto his feet and slammed up his right hand to the side of his face, cupping his ear just below the jagged lightning bolt. It was Iris, "Jace? Jai and I need you at the XS laboratory now…Jace?"
Interval shook his head as he worked through the dryness of his mouth to respond, "yes. I'm on my way."
"Hurry."
"Tristan Cuthbert," he mumbled one last time as he retrieved the shovel and proceeded to rebury the body. At lightning speed, he slipped the spade underneath each pile of soil he discarded earlier and brought it back to the hole where he packed its crumpled form down on level with the rest of the yard. When he had completed the burial and returned the shovel back to where he acquired it, he ran straight off for XS laboratory.
On his approach to the XS Laboratory building, Interval noticed a suspicious looking vehicle sitting in the parking lot. At its basest description, it was big and bulky. The front was essentially a giant globe of hard plastered green, cut in half and glued on to a long heavily plated posterior section shaped like a standard caravan though, at the very least, three times the standard size. Encircling the connection line of the globe and the connecting van piece was a thick dark grey bracket modelled like a piece of armour that snuggly fit around the vehicle's basic frame. The portions it protected, along with the encircling of the connection line, included what would be an eye covering visor around the front of the globe, if in fact it could be viewed as a face, and the majority of the vehicle's roof, the edges around the van being particularly thick. Along the sides the armour was particularly long in passing to the back, reaching enough across to fit a full sized door. Where the armour did not reach a soft palette grey filled in the rest. This particular section was notable for the solid wings on each side that began at about mid-level and slanted towards the ground. At the very end of these wings were box like engines about a half foot thick while being six feet long, running parallel to the vehicle proper. The front of these engines had three holes that contained within a series of blades and various technological devices that formed powerful turbines; it enable the vehicle to fly. Such a capability meant that either its owner was extremely wealthy and able to purchase a licence to man this craft or, as he figured more likely, it belonged to some government agency.
The front room of the lab was quite spacious in its size if not divided to a varying degree. Immediately inside the dual sets of sliding doors that made up the front entrance way was a partial cage of foot-by-foot hard plastic transparent window boxes that held to a full story before levelling straight off; the absence of a ceiling to itself prevented the cage from being wholesome in form. Directly ahead of this cage was a sizable pillar like construct that ebbed out smoothly from the wall. At the front of this pillar was a thick chrome plated door that lead into the gymnasium sized room where projects and experiments of grand size took place, so, when the projects were of a small variety, they were regulated to this front room. To either side of the dividing line formed by the cage and pillar were square shaped rooms lined from wall to wall with desk space that carried upon their backs a variety tools, scanning devices, and research projects of mechanical affairs. Running along the walls on the edge of the desk were monitors screens which displayed blue prints and diagrams of the research projects currently being worked upon, though, as it appeared to be the case of many such projects, they had not experienced a hand in development since their primary innovator left this realm of existence. The place was spotless in its clean white colour, the only differentiation being the sporadic blue shades that infected the monitor screens.
"Agent Bennett, if this has anything to do with the Hyperguard and those people they killed; I want you to know that it's been dealt with, [INT#7-9]" Iris stated as she exited the pillar's door, letting its thick breadth close in behind her with a whispering slam. She was a tall, slender woman with noteworthy hair; long, silky and fiery red, at current pulled back and tied into a tail that first arched at the back end of her head before falling flat against her backside. She wore something of a one piece skin tight black suit though abstracted from full view by a haphazardly fashioned scarlet red shirt which itself was supplanted further by her black leather like jacket whose gold edge buckles she left to fly around as she moved. She nimbly made her way to her left, entering the section where a group of five had formed, two of which she recognized as being close confidants: her brother Jai and their government liaison, Robert Atman.
Jai was a person noted for his muscular physique, certainly unparalleled to any of his relatives despite not being a member of those innately connected to the Speed Force in a way that would grant him a fraction of its power. His hair was short and dark, his eyes equally as shaded. At current, he wore a tight flex fitting baby blue short sleeved shirt and long velvety blue track pants with a single white circle striped line running down each leg. As a noteworthy journalist, when it came to persons in suits, especially of the government variety, he adopted a scowl and a demeanour of antagonism characterized in the bulge of his arms as they crossed over his chest. The only government stooge he never met with scepticism was their government stooge, Robert.
Robert was a slim gentleman with a straight jaw, wide angled cheeks, bushy eyebrows that all worked well in form with his slick jet black hair. The government stooge that he was saw him rarely without an impressionable suit. At current, he wore a sleek black suit with a thick collard white shirt that cut into a square at the bottom of his neck. With an often held genial smile that accentuated his clean lips, he was quite the good looking specimen despite his job being deemed menial by the West family.
"That is not what I've come to discuss," Agent Bennett was a tall man with wide squared shoulders that modelled well with the straight line of his jaw and cheek lines. His strong brown hair was perfectly cut, circled to the cornering peaks of his forehead and pristinely flat across the top. He wore a lighter suit than Robert, nearly grey, with the jacket portion having barely noticeable lapels that rode down from the sides of his neck on diagonal lines to the centre of his chest, closed off with a pristine triangular point. The only noteworthy feature of the shirt was its nearly slate colour, its half-inch flat collar simply blending up from the shirts bulk. "The NSA has conducted its research into the incidences and has affirmed the extent of your involvement…or lack thereof." His voice was sharp; perfectly fitting to a man who was serious at all moments of the day. Additionally, there was one particular feature to his wear that could not go unnoticed: the straight topped green tinted glasses.
Agent Bennett was not alone; there were two other agents within his company, wearing similarly fitting suits though lacking in those authentically attached glasses. One was a man in his late twenties with a strong slash of red hair that nearly matched Iris's though not nearly as vibrant. With his arms crossed and lips puckered into one another, he appeared to have a desire intimidate but perhaps had overshot himself considering his meagre frame compared to Jai's. In this regard, he simply seemed to be incompetent and quite possibly a klutz. The other agent was a woman of a stronger standing than her colleague. Her hair was lacy and black, curled into bunches all along her scalp while her eyes were the deepest of browns. Though she wore a similarly styled suit, the shirt she wore beneath her jacket was explicitly purple.
"Then why are you here?" Iris grumbled, understandably upset by Agent Bennett's underlying meaning, as she stepped in between her brother and confidante to stare the Agent down.
"Two things," Bennett took in a deep whiff of air, "that may perhaps be interconnected."
"What's going on?" Interval slowly turned out from the cage, somehow blustering pass the front entrance without so much as a rattle to his footsteps. As he stumbled over to Jai's side, he could not help but stare down the foreign figures in the room, the NSA agents, recognizing the shade of black that infected their jackets as being attributable to a friend of his.
"Is this the boy?" Bennett sharply looked upon Interval as the young speedster came to a stop.
"Jace," Iris nodded to Interval with a gulp. She tossed out a hand towards the three agents, "this is Agent Bennett of the NSA. He wanted you here-"
"Yes," Bennett cut in. He took in a deep breath, the kind that asserted the confidence he had in this peculiar situation, and padded his hands down his jacket as he returned the majority of his attention to Iris with only few periodic glances to the younger speedster, "several years ago an agent of ours defected from the agency, John Thermos." Interval's eyes widened for a brief moment but managed to maintain a solid form to his body, most unwilling to convey that he may know something, "since then, he's mostly been specializing in black market sales; weapons, access codes…" he nodded into the etcetera, "we believe as recently as four months ago, he was commissioned to construct a computer chip that would grant access to the global weather monitoring system from which control of the satellite network can be obtained." He paused for a moment, "he's very clever with security systems, but not nearly as technological enabled or knowledgeable to hack into the global weather network. He had to consult an outside source, Doctor Tristan Cuthbert." Interval raised his chin to look away as his breath became shallow, his form collapsing for the first time, "she disappeared two months ago. We have reason to believe that John Thermos is responsible and that he is currently residing in Keystone City."
"And you want me to find him?" Iris questioned in puzzlement.
"What's going on?" Interval stepped in with a loss of wind.
"Have you looked at the sky recently?" Bennett posed an almost rhetorical question.
Jai shook his ahead, blinking sporadically as he slipped into the deep recesses of his mind, "it's been cloudy for over a week. No rain," his voice trailed off weakly to the end while his eyes bolted open, coming to stare blankly at the line of agents.
"The chip has already been implanted in the system, starting at a station in Hub City. The chip had a encoded worm that festered in the system for some time before spreading to all weather stations and satellites," Bennett firmly nodded his head, "those aren't clouds in the sky. It's methane."
"Methane?" Interval whispered.
"No more than twenty years ago when the planet was utilizing combustion engines we could have very well had fire in the sky," Bennett continued, "but today its passed off as being under control, a minor passing of a heat wave. If regulated properly, this current state of partial coverage can be managed for several years, but worldwide, we're looking at under a week of survival."
"That's not possible," Interval scoffed, "there are not enough stations or satellites to support a worldwide enclosure of methane clouds."
"They're being built," Bennett snapped, "that first station to receive the worm was owned by The White Queen, a weather company that appeared no more than three months ago. It has bought up a multitude of blank lots across the world to further advance these efforts. Our own efforts to shut them down…well, let's just say my superiors aren't not on the same standing. I know it's a shell corporation; all that need be done now is to locate its true source. If we find John Thermos, we figure out just what exactly is going on."
"How do you know that he's in Keystone City?" Iris prodded.
"It's where he was last spotted," he slipped a hand into his jacket and worked away at a pocket on the interior side, "he was spotted at a diner on Gardner Street. We managed to acquire his persons before our van was toppled over by a meta-human being [INT#6]," a thin nearly transparent panel was pulled out from his jacket, understood to be a palm held computer from which he proceeded to read off of once it lit up with an illustrious electronic blue, "described as male, in their early twenties, and possessing super speed and the ability to phase through solid objects," he took in a heavy breath as his eyes, along with everyone else fell upon Interval, more inquisitive than ready to convict.
"Jace? Were you involved in this?" Iris prodded the boy for answers but he remained silent.
"It matters not if he admits to interfering with NSA operations," Bennett shook his head slightly, "we have video evidence of another incident this speedster was involved in. We found the setting to be quite odd by this point. As soon as the chip was constructed, the entirety of the underworld appeared to be in an internal battle against one another for acquiring it. Every week, there was a new mobster rising to replace the one just killed. But we don't believe they knew exactly what the chip was for, not like John did. His conscience was probably getting the best of him, knowing full well of his buyer's intention to destroy the planet. He had already made the sale but managed to convince the middle man of its falseness. The black market was soon swamped with fake chips that internally fried when used. It made its true location in addition to the failures of fake chips made it all that more confusing for the underground. A large minority of these fake chips were linked to obsolete missile silos which seem to be the current belief held by the underworld as being the chip's real purpose. Probably believe the idea was to hold planet at ransom." After one more slide of his thumb against the palm held handle, he raised it up to the company of Jai, Iris and Robert, to take a gander at the displayed video, "this happened at a testing ground in Minnesota. A crime boss in the northern syndicate, whom we believe to be the boss of the middle man in John's transaction, attempted to test the chip…" he briefly paused, "I've had to slow down the clip."
There were several figures in dark jackets within a damp, dungy, certainly decades old housing unit for a single missile entrenched in the ground. There was one figure amongst them that Interval readily recognized as having encountered before, a tall, muscular being in full black armour , whose noted uniqueness came from the red 'V' that was superimposed on his face plate. When they had encountered one another, he was called the Vigilante. Several seconds into the video however brought forth another figure that he had seen before; it was himself, or at the very least, himself in another era, dimension or any other number of possibilities he had been tossing around to explain this speedster's presence. The costume was similar in design to that of his own but tweaked in its colour arrangement, possessing the most delicate of blues in replacement of scarlet red and a pristine white in replacement of his gritty black. This speedster rapidly fired across the camera's sight of vision, back and forth all over the screen, tearing through the gangsters with ferocious swiping moves of his fists and feet. When he came to encounter Vigilante there was a bit of a struggle, but not one that the speedster could not handle with ease. In short time, Vigilante was pinned to the floor with the speedster standing over top of him. If his posture was anything to judge from, the speedster was gloating.
Interval stumbled forward in his focus, hand flexed and ready to snatch the shine panel from Bennett's hand. The agent stared at him nonchalantly as he drew closer, allowing for their hands to meet lest the young speedster's wandering feet prove incapable of supporting him to his height. Successfully snatching the device with both hands, Interval turned to his right, aimed towards the wall which he proceeded to step towards with his head bowed lowly. The video replayed once more within the privacy of his eyes, "it's not me!" he gasped.
"I beg to differ," Bennett asserted himself forward.
"What are you trying to accuse him of?" Iris stepped in with a gentle taste to her tongue.
"Interference with an NSA investigation, harbouring information about a wanted fugitive, harbouring information regarding a threat to security," Bennett maintained his stone expression, "among other accusations, but you get the gist."
Interval suddenly turned around, somewhat feeble in posture and weak in articulating his voice, "I don't believe video evidence is enough to indict me…especially considering that an identity has not be affirmed beyond doubt."
"Then you are mistaken," Bennett fired off at Interval, "we're the NSA. You're a foreigner to this world and you qualify as a Meta-Human, you don't have rights save for the ones we grant you out of pity which I can assure you that we do not."
"He's a part of this family," Iris scowled, "I agreed to cooperate with your research programs-"
"No you didn't," Bennett cut in with a renewed thunderous persona, "your father did," he entered into a staring war with Iris, "and the lack of involvement on your part since his passing has been abysmal at best. Now I don't expect him to cooperate willingly, clearly, you can kill us now if you wish," he shook out his hands as though to goad them into doing so, "just know that you need us to keep whatever it is you do here alive," he shirked his arms back to his sides, "you need us more than we need you."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Iris clamped down her jaw, unwilling to let her eyes wander under the pressure.
"As NSA understands it, you and your brother here have been holding out on us," Bennett slipped back into his normal tone of discourse, "your refusal to authorize our scientists to look at Velocity 9."
"For good reasons," Iris bolstered herself up.
"I know, I've read Mr. Atman's report…it's not good enough," Bennett scolded with a soft stare towards the barely responsive Robert, "we've found someone who's more willing to work with us. He's managed to synthesize a Velocity serum."
"What?" Iris's eyes suddenly widened with the breaking of her posture of intimidation.
"But that's not all you've been holding from us, is it?" Bennett rhetorically questioned, "our man believes you to be in the possession of the Cobalt Blue Gem." Both Iris and Jai felt their legs twitch in discomfort, their bodies tempted to sweat as Bennett sought to continue, "you're family has done a lot for this city, I grant them that but for you, I hope that you will be willing to work with us rather than against us, especially in a time such as this. Provide us with the gem or we will do more than just pull your funding." Iris held her silent scowl, pulling her head away from Bennett best she could without losing eye contact, "we'll be in close touch…and we may just call in the boy for questioning." And with the evident finality to his words, Bennett snatched his panel back from Interval's hand and signalled his agents to follow in behind. They entered the cage of windows as a unit, walking down its length to the fogged sliding doors which slid inward of their slots accordingly to their presence. For those watching them it felt like an eternity, but overall, it was a reasonably quiet exit that passed in less than a minute's time.
"What's the Cobalt Blue Gem?" Robert propped up a brow.
"You have it?" Interval took in a deep breath, rattled to the bone, "where…where is it?"
"What is it?" Robert looked over to the shocked Interval.
Interval shook his head in a negative manner while his voice lent itself nicely to stuttering, belittled with uncertainty, "I don't really know…I've only read about it."
Iris groaned with a rapid fire shake of her head, "first things first," she pulled herself together, "Jace? John Thermos was the man who helped us against the Hyperguard, right?" but Interval just looked at her blankly, "what have you gotten yourself into?" she questioned with a heavy breath.
Interval gulped with a short order sniff, "I have to go." Four words spoken and his super speed took over, vibrating his body to unimaginable levels, allowing him to pass through the nearby wall with ease. He was gone.
"Where is he going?" Robert continued to cry in confusion, becoming quite desperate, "What is going on here?"
"Robert," Iris slammed her hands against the man's chest, pulling him towards herself with both hands gripping the lapels of his jacket, "I don't care what it takes," she voice rolled like devastating fire, "we need to talk to this young savant, now!
"You've been lying to me," Interval's voice was a slithering whisper though holding a ferocious sharpness that was fully audible, "when we first met at that diner. It wasn't the criminal underworld targeting you, it was the NSA. It's happening now. You're still searching for that chip." He took a commanding step forward, lifting his thick soled boot from the sheering grip of the grated metal plated floorboard before him with a subtle rattling, and slamming it down upon the base of a rather spacious tubular shaped booth. The booth's seamlessly round fitted wall, sized to a single story, was immersed in a pristine coat of white while its floor stood to be thickly coated rubber in a very earthly flavoured orange; despite evident exuberance attached to these shades a colours, the booth was quite subdued in life, characterized as looking to be damp and dreadfully dreary. That metal plated floorboard just past was situated in a way to form the center line of this small complex he currently occupied, starting from the entrance way at one side to the other where a booth of similar face to that of the one described closed off the end, a single door enfranchised there, blending seamlessly with the wall. There was another booth, located across the broad length of the pathway from the booth he came to occupy, its presence now to his backside; it was practically empty save a long plastic white topped table and four chairs, two to each side. "You've seen the footage of the theft," this particular booth, as compared to the other two, was noted for being the central computer hub of the small complex. Wedged deeply into its curved sides was a large thin lined monitor screen, the kind that relied more so upon the intricate working of holographic synapses and laser lines as opposed to a pixelated screen. Beneath the screen was a plastic stone white coloured table with a myriad of glowing blue lined devices, the least of which being several keyboards and touch screen pads no bigger than a hand. "You think I'm the one who stole your computer chip, perhaps that I am the one behind what's happening with the weather or that perhaps I work for the person who is. That's why you've invited me in so easily…."
"I had to be certain…" it was a growling even-tempo voice; the kind that arose from a clenched chest that buried its lung capacity within the lowest recesses of the stomach. The source was a wide shouldered man whose muscles were toned to a fashionable massive girth, matched well to the military persona that modelled itself in a blend of obedience and possibly arrogance to his rigid posture. At current, he was hunched over the table, hands spread out along its sharply cut edges. "I had to be certain," he slowly turned around, hands dragging in a stutter back to his sides as he did so. He was a man of a dark façade, with a clean shaven face, hair shortly cut to the scalp and fittingly black, cheek bones bulging out to strong points and flowing down to a chiselled chin, and dark wooden eyes that rarely allowed the relief of renewed moisture that came with a blink, "that you weren't involved in any of this." The suit he wore sharply fit that of the NSA agents though in a more so tardy in shape compared to those whom the young speedster had met recently. With a shrivelled face expression, one of displeasure, he looked upon him. His name was John Thermos.
"And this is why you've acquired a satellite imagining network, so you can keep a track of my movements," Interval boldly moved in with an accusation, "telling me so that perhaps to deter me from aggravating the situation further."
"Even if The Flash had the capability to commit to this atrocity," John circled his arms around his back, "she and her family have shown a love for this city that no other can compare. Historically speaking, it seems to me that she would do all in her power, even if that be the sacrifice of her own life, to protect this city from an impending capitulation. But you…you probably know this better than I." A brief pass of silence spilled over their voices before John could push forward, "of what I know of you is that you are different era, a place in time far beyond this. You don't even call this planet home. I know not of the reason for your being here."
"I'm not here by choice," Interval fired off with a stern glare, "I don't have a reason for why I was left here. I don't know."
"But I'm sure it was your instrumental reasoning that led you here," John bolstered up his bottom lip with a slight raise to his chin, assuming somewhat of a domineering attitude within his eyes, "everything, everyone, they're all factors, instruments, that you use to achieve your own ends. I've studied time travel cases before. Each story seems to be characterized by the same events. Something terrible happens in their past, and they'll do just about everything to stop it even if that means changing some events in the past, possessing little if any comprehension of what they are disturbing. I reckon that something of that tune happened to you."
Interval took in a deep sniff whilst working his nerves away at the clout of animosity that steadily began to riddle the forefront of his head, deeply affecting his common strain of thought, the reasoning, that John so candidly pointed out, "are you prepared to accuse me of my involvement?"
"I've seen the footage, I've studied it," John's arms suddenly twisted around to his front, crossing over and clutching tightly with a coarse rubbing sound emerging on account the jacket's cloth. His face was like stone, "I've also studied you. Your physical dimensions are generally consistent with one another and that costume…it's a match in all but colour. Now that you've seen it…would you have not suspected it to be yourself? Have you not already?"
"Yes," Interval relinquished the knot of breath in his chest with a blushing expulsion and a straightforward nod.
John took a soft step towards Interval, "perhaps then, this incident is a part of your quest to master the tidal waves of time?"
"I've thought of it…" Interval gulped, turning away his head, "I suppose it's not entirely unheard of in the community I travel with. Even the costume…thread compositions can be changed through vibrating the strands, colour included." He padded his hands down his chest, "This costume was fitted to be resistant to friction. It's the only reason why I wear it. But it was given to me by a monstrosity of my own making [INT#2] and now that I've seen this arrangement, the future…it's a sign of rebirth," his head shook on the point of his neck that wobbled the most, "I want him to be me."
"Why?" John sharply growled, asserting himself forward.
"He's faster," Interval suddenly locked eyes with John, legs locking up at the knee joints, "faster than me. He's powerful. He can travel through the time stream on a whim, overcome any paradox just by being, while I," he knelt his head momentarily, lending his voice to several seconds of silence in the process, "I need help."
"And what would your future self see to benefit from bringing the planet to an end?" John returned to his cautious, even-tempo voice.
"I don't know," Interval snapped, wilding chucking out his hands, "what could I possibly earn from this? You have all that satellite imaging connected on me, you have at the very least vague knowledge of my activities, has any of it furthered your suspicions of me?" he continued to shake his head in a negative manner, "You got to believe me, I wouldn't do this," a difficult gulp cycled down the drain of his throat, "at least, I don't think I would. Not now."
"I know," John politely smirked, coming to sound more pleased by comparison to his more distraught tone held only moments ago. Interval looked up at him with pondering eyes, "it couldn't have been easy for someone like yourself to place the lives of others before your own." His voice came across as almost jovial, fitted to a widening grin, "you took responsibility for your actions," he nodded approvingly, "and Jadelynn got to telling me about what happened with that Tamaranean girl…you care, whether you'd like to admit it to yourself or not [INT#9]." He began to chuckle, "for the first time in your life, you've actually made friends. That's probably why you were so open to coming here time after time, looking for help, you wanted someone to speak with on your own level and far be it for me to be arrogant, but I do believe you've found that in me."
"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Interval remained utterly baffled.
"Of having a conscience," John's brow straightened for a moment, "and a good one at that." He calmly walked up to the young speedster, gently raising a hand to place upon his shoulder, "you don't know the reason why you're here, but maybe this is it," he shook his shoulders, "you've learnt a lot about yourself since you've come here, haven't you?" His hands slipped from their grasp, returning harmlessly to their appropriate sides as he returned his attention back to the computer, "I only wish that I could have sooner, for my own sake."
"Do what sooner?" Interval walked up to his side.
"Learn. To take responsibility for what I've enabled, for what I've done," John gasped. He proceeded to tap the tops of his fingers against one of the panels that laid amongst others on the cluttered table top, noted for the its glassy surface and thin neon blue perimeter line. In an instance the main screen fitted within the curvature of the wall arose in a lively electronic blue, the holographic network booting up into its proper display before finally solidifying on a satellite image of Keystone city seconds later, separating its whole into small boxed sections by a hair line of black. Stretching across the upper part of the screen, riding a line from the top to the right side thereby cutting out the upper right corner, was the Mississippi river, addressed in the most devilish of teals and blues. The interior of the city that stretched along its coast was shaded in the most enduring grey colours of modernity, spreading forth its influence to the bottom left corner in increasingly smaller portions, weaving through the standard greens of grass and the earthly tones of clay. From this particular view, the city appeared quite fine if not entirely plain; its true character however, the part it played in this story, failed to be revealed. "My conscience has been faulty since before I realized that I may just have one. It's a tragic shame that all those months ago I had forgotten I had it. Now it's eating at me, ravaging the partial remnants that one might call a soul…."
"As I understand it, in this time period, small arms, the kinds of hand operated weapons you usually deal in, have taken more lives than weapons of mass destruction," Interval's stepped back to his informative monotone for but a statement all while mentally shrugging his shoulders.
"And now that I've created something at a level comparable to mass destruction being used as we speak?" John tapped the pad one last time, and suddenly several navy blue circles the size of thumb prints popped up on the screen, two most local to the interior of the city with the majority of others accosted to the outskirts; evident to both parties in view, they were weather stations that corresponded with their a network of satellites serving to keep natural systems in check, augmenting them was necessary to maintain a peaceful plain of existence on the planet below.
"How can you claim to have a conscience?" Interval's voice took to a negative bent, "have a good one at that?"
"But he does," a foreign voice caught the two off guard, immediately beckoning their eyes to look to their backsides, catching face with a girl creeping around the corner. Her hair was black and lacy though abstracted of such soft value as it was tied up in a bun at the back of her head. Her chin angled to a point of ease providing a strong base for a symmetrical outline that was best conveyed in her tear blue dotted eyes and tiny flat nose. She wore a jumpsuit of sorts, enticing nearly the entirety of her body in a thick silky black material that cut short only at the bulbs of her wrists and in a triangular point down the centre of her neck. She was Jadelynn, in the care of John since she was a child. "He's not firing the gun," she stepped up onto the base, trailblazing her way to their collective, "chop that up to the immoral dregs he sells to." She immediately rushed up to John, clasping her hands together as she touched his solid chest, "you've taken care of me, taught me everything I know. I've never met another man so wholesome in his goodness, so strict to his moral ethic."
"No, but he's right," John calmly responded, returning quickly to his computer layout. Jadelynn swiftly slipped up to his side opposite Interval, "I've ignored any conception of real morals for the better half of my career. It's always been morals for proper business, there had to be honour amongst the criminal underground or nothing could be accomplished, that's all that I was a part of," The tips of his fingers began to tap away at the edge of the table as he was taken into a long sigh, totally gathered into his thoughts, "each life killed from a weapon I sold, I've stood to benefit. I was diligently paid and I cared not what they did with what I made them…it was always about my rewards, financial or otherwise. And it was never enough, always had to do more…always had to suppress, well," his eyes wandered from the cold of his hands and up to the screen, connecting each of those all too distracting dots with lines in his head, "look what I've done."
"Its methane gas," Interval chimed in, "the chip you created…its infected the system with not so much a viral worm but a command, one so simple and common that the satellite networks to which it spreads wouldn't notify it as being irregular or suspicious," He looked up to John whom in turn returned his attentions to him, "something is missing, a chemical compound so abundant to the Earth that's it absence would cause concern to its survival." He swiftly turned back up to the screen, swaying his eyes across all the weather station points, "its pumping methane gas because they're being told that there is none. It's going to burn the planet and everything and everyone on it." He lightly nodded his head affirmatively, "now I've thought that maybe I could dismantle all the weather stations by hand but that could take months and the security issues. It may be prudent to go to the Justice League but I'm not exactly in good terms with the Flash given the current situation." He became to hesitate as he headed into his conclusion, knowing of its implications, "I don't think they'd believe me, not without evidence."
"How do you know all of this?" John abruptly cut in, narrowing the lids of his eyes as he continued to keep his eyes upon the speedster, becoming quite inquisitive in voice, "I had to search through several encrypted NSA databases and then some to acquire the footage of that mysterious speedster's activities, how is it that you were able to see it?" Interval sharply turned inward of him; lips closed, eyes unflinching, "oh," he stepped backwards in subdued shock.
"What?" Jadelynn leaned atop the computer table, looking down the way to Interval at the other end, "who?" her face crinkled up in puzzlement, a single eyebrow raised.
"The NSA visited the Flash earlier today," Interval eagerly relented his information, holding to his monotone drawl, "it would seem that several government organizations, one of which being the NSA, funded the previous Flash title holder to work on special interest projects for them. They believe that it was me that stole the chip…they've threatened to shut the current Flash, her," he shook his head repeatedly, "if we don't comply with their demands, one of which being that I turn myself in for questioning…whatever that means," he shook his shoulders with an unnerving gulp, "I'm not exactly knowledgeable the criminal code of this era," he winced, "I've always thought of myself more as a deductive scientist than that 'superhero' image."
"A what?" Jadelynn continued in her state of confusion.
After a moment's pause, in which there was a time dedicated to shaking off Jadelynn's internal confusion, Interval continued, "I believe that they know of our close association…our friendship," his brow shook, "they're looking for you and they know you're here. The Flash knows who you are now…I don't think she'll have much issue in turning in your location," he took in a heavy breath, "I'm sorry that I brought her here."
"It's not your fault," John spoke through a coarse whisper. He placed a hand upon the young speedster's shoulder. He sighed, letting his eyes rest momentarily, "have they told you anything else?"
"Yes," Interval quickly replied, "they say that you didn't create the chip on your own, that you had to outsource for assistance."
"Yes," John begrudgingly nodded, somewhat disappointed that he would have to reveal all of his shortcomings face to face with his somewhat newfound friend, "all I could really do was provide access to the network and foster a collective unit and acquire design plans for the development of future weather stations and potential construction grounds…I needed someone who could create the code, an algorithm that would order the satellites to pump out methane after being noted of its absence."
"Tristan Cuthbert," Interval started, "a computer scientist from Luthorcorp. She disappeared a few months ago; they believe you were involved in her kidnapping."
"I haven't spoken to her in…" John shook his head, stammering through to the end, "at least two months."
"She's dead," Interval came out blunt.
"What?" John took in a deep breath as he suddenly fell back onto the computer table, nearly coming to sit upon it. He was suddenly stricken with grief, eyes strung open to their farthest reaches; it was most unusual a state to see this man in, even Jadelynn seemed quite shocked.
"I found her body this morning," Interval sought to continue, slowing down himself to compensate for what appeared to be John's lack of comprehension for the conversation at hand.
"Where?" John pushed himself up from the desk now, "show me now," he continued in a beleaguered and quick paced tone of voice before Interval could summon the words to respond.
"Alright I'm coming," Jadelynn pushed her body off the table's ledge; there was a lot of strength behind her voice.
"No," John suddenly shot a hand out towards her, stopping her in her tracks. She slowly turned around to confront her beloved caretaker, "any moment now, the NSA could be breaking down our door," he appeared quite a bit level headed now, no doubt stifling the grief for the time being given the situation, "I may need you to start deleting out files, clean out our rooms, pack everything you can for travel…"
Jadelynn's composure slumped, "we're moving again?" the thought pained her.
"Most likely," John replied, "I'll contact you for when to get started." He lowered his chin in her direction, keeping a beady eye upon her, "you understand?"
Jadelynn shook her head with a dishevelled sigh, "yeah."
John abruptly turned to Interval, hand moulding to his waist line, using the crook of his elbows to bolster his shoulders back to strength, "let's go."
It was much later in the day than when he was previously here in the morning, but the sun, as could only be expected, had not managed to find a way through the corrosive combination of chemicals that made up the methane clouds. Thus, the sky was a uniform of grey all the way across with only slight glimpses of orange embedded into decisive curls and bends that created quite the captivating illusion of overlapping layers. Interval and John now stood at the base of that lone haunting tree that stood apart from the strips of pinewood by way of its lacking leaf structure and it's a hollowed, lifeless trunk; its crooked soulless branches formed a globe of an incredibly dense magnitude with their crossing paths, overwhelming the mind conscious of its presence with feelings of dread.
"The ground here looks disturb," John looked over to Interval after having analyzed the splotches of dirt that formed a multitude of oblong shaped hills, what grass that laid upon them being unable to hold any flat footed grounding, their long blades aimed sporadically along the slopes.
"This is where I found the body," Interval replied with an affirming nod. In heavy footed strokes, he dashed off to the nearest building, the single floor home noted for its tarnished white base, stranded as it were in the middle of nowhere. Its creaky haphazardly bolted door was ripped open in a blustery storm of wind, revealing nothing but the darkness of its lowly spirit which the young speedster immersed himself in to no harm. He soon emerged with the spade ended shovel in hand, rushing back to the tree base where he went to work on tearing the loosely packed soil mounds once more. The ferocity that arose from his speed forced John to take quite the step back, his eye however never wavering from the central excavation spot despite the plots of dirt that flew past his face. It wasn't long before he reached that nauseating discovery, carefully wedging the tip of his shovel around the corpse to avoid puncturing any more than had already been incurred.
"Oh my…" John's voice was cold, his face becoming ever so barren as he stared into the three foot deep hole which contained the lifeless husk of a friend duly passed, no doubt searching within the database of his mind for her face, seeing it now as shrivelled and deformed with colour ripped to the absolutist of chalk grey shades. The facial recognition system within his mind was soon matched the body to the silvery shined name tag pinned to the long white coat, the name displayed being 'Tristan Cuthbert' engraved in black letters. He let his body soak in the cold air for several seconds, still standing strong as he grasped the full meaning of this find. When the moment passed, he proceeded to hop down into the hole, reaching into his jacket to procure a jet black pipe like device that snuggly within the fully rounded grip of his fingers. With feet entrenched firmly to either side of the body, he knelt as lowly as he could without touching, raising the palm held device ahead of himself to the corpse's head with thumb poised to tap the lone thin line imprinted button on the devices apparent upper half. Upon the connection of his thumb and the subsequent button depression, a transparent screen exploded outward from within the tubular holding, quickly folding out into a rectangular piece no more than an inch long in congruency with the device proper and one third that measurement across.
"What are you doing?" Interval questioned as he tossed the shovel away, landing with thud into the mess of dirt piles created under the steam of his lifting efforts.
"Scanning," John responded calmly. The screen suddenly sparked into a shine of neon blue reminiscent of the appliances that decked his computer desk, "I want to know what killed her." He laid out the flat of the screen over top of the corpse and, beginning from the centre of the forehead, proceeded to scan the body, slowly moving downward with his eyes transfixed upon the screen side up for upon its display was internal tissues and bone of the body, acquired, of course, through x-raying. "There is something else I'd like to know," his attention never once slipped away from the swirling lines of white that brushed through the endless sea of electronic blue. Bones, organs, other anatomic features; nothing would go without inquiry, "how is it that you were able to find the body, this isn't exactly a common dropping ground. I'd say we're just about in the middle of nowhere."
"Well, the answer is kind of complicated," Interval, whom had in the duration of John's investigation been leaning inward of the whole with hands on his knees, groaned as he straightened himself up, unleashing a single subdued cough that rattled his throat.
"What's this?" the swaying search light like movements of John's otherwise solidly held hand came to an abrupt stop with the articulation of his internally bemusing question. In this stationary position, the screen of his scanning tool was suspended just above the corpse's chest, "that's strange," he lightly padded down a knee into the corpse's abdomen for balance as he pulled around his free hand to work away at unbuttoning the dirt ridden lab coat, haphazardly tearing through from the neck line down.
"What have you found?" Interval, sparked by renewed interest, leaned in on his knees once more.
"The aortic arch, it's been severed, almost surgically…or rather, exploded somehow," John took in a deep breath as he proceeded to pull away the loosened flaps of the coat, attempting to get a clear visual of the corpses chalk white skin below. Touching the tips of his fingers upon the portion under his scanner's eye, he gathered only its relative smoothness in addition to a coldness long associated with the dead.
"What's so strange about that?" Interval questioned through a harshly put whisper.
John took in a solid gulp as he rose back up to full standing. He promptly jammed his thumb back onto the lone button of his handheld device thereby recalling the screen in a swift movement, "there's no incision wound, or trauma of any kind," he discordantly shook his head, still unable to take himself away from his focus on the lifeless form of a lost friend, "nothing that would indicate a tear so precise. I've seen this before, recently. It could only mean-"
"It could only mean a speedster," a voice neither belonging to Interval or John sounded off to their far side opposing the location of that decrepit home, emerging out from the wall like thickness of the privately purposed forest strip entrenched there. Though the tempered young hero and his secretive friend were taken completely off guard at the instance of a foreign voice in their presence, let alone in a place so devoid of populace, the bass form in the articulation of the words and the rigid nature of the vocal pattern was well known to them: Special Agent James Bennett of the National Security Agency. "It's the same way that the Hyperguard took their victims, vibrating their hands through their chests and severing the aortic arch. It's very sadistic of you to order your men to kill in one of the most inhuman ways possible, but I suppose its limits how much blood they'd have on their hands," he was calm in his steps, hands perfectly still at his sides. His slow wayward trot came to an end three strides short of the burial plot, a position providing of at least a glimpse of the body which he took in momentarily before finding his way back up to Interval and John, their faces filled with disgust, "We thought you might come back to the scene…coming here to tie up loose ends?" He adjusted his green rimmed glasses, pacing himself with a stiff grin.
"Bennett," John nodded to the agent, scorn bubbling on his lips.
"It's been a long time Mr. Thermos," Bennett cordially slipped his hands into his pockets, revelling somewhat in the ease of this perceived accomplishment; cornering their most wanted, "you're looking well."
"Who did this?" John suddenly bolstered up to a shout, aiming his body towards Bennett as though he were preparing to run at him. When he finally took a step up from the hole to be on equal footing, this scenario had indeed come to mind in all present, but truly unfettered by this threat, Bennett held his ground, leading John to believe, rightfully so, that there were others nearby as thus he held his ground also.
"Don't you know?" Bennett raised up an eyebrow, obvious sarcasm in the base of his voice, "why don't you ask your fast moving friend," his hands slipped out from their pocketed holsters, following in the movements of his arms to cross over his chest. He turned his attention to Interval, intrigued by the boys swift head movements, no doubt searching through the forestry and field spread as shadowy characters were slowly emerging, "I wouldn't advise trying your tricks speedster," he chin slid down into his chest but his eyes remained locked on the boy, "the concussive wave will scatter you're molecules if you try to pass through it. You'll be dead in less than a second, but no worries, I'm sure your mastery over your perception of time will make the experience of being ripped apart atom by atom as excruciating as possible." Indeed, it was becoming plainly obvious to Interval and John that they were surrounded in a perimeter of at least twenty black suit wearing NSA agents that included in their ranks that stern curly black haired woman whom Interval had met earlier back at XS lab. In their hands were buoys of some kind, silver shined poles about four feet long and a full adult hand grasp thick with a basketball sized button end that they carried on line with their heads. A simple press of their hands along the sides of the shaft in a particular spot and the bottom sprouted a further three feet of a much slimmer arrow point that was almost immediately jammed into the ground. Satisfied, the agents stepped ahead of their posted pegs, assuming a stationary position only a stride within, their numbers assuredly producing an intimidating design. The pegs were no doubt fully operation for the ball situated at the top was prone to the outbreak of thin lined electrical surges of purple that engulfed its form but too much detriment for Interval and John, the wall it formed in unison with one another was invisible to the unaided eye. "It's getting easier these days to track you people," Bennett proceeded to retrieve his personal hand held computer panel from the pocket layered inside his jacket, raising it to over to his shoulder so that its display could be in full view of his cornered fugitives. It was an image of the Keystone City from above, an image matching that of the one on John's computer. Like John, Bennett and his colleagues had been tracking Interval's movements through high speed satellite imaging, "So what have you two been planning?"
"Planning?" John scoffed at the word.
Interval marched around the burial spot with his head held high, soon coming to face down Bennett with but a couple feet in between, "I didn't know this woman, I didn't kill her, talk to The Flash," he took in a large breath, desiring to stick to his carefully kept monotone but nonetheless feeling a tremble through his spine that sought to make him stutter in complete contradiction to his brain's demand, "I didn't kill her!"
"No, I didn't suspect you did, but you have friends," Bennett kicked the tip of his right foot into the ground. Though originally quite arrogant in his position, that façade of his suddenly shifted, turning into a stern voice with an even tighter glare than before, "did she get in your way? Did she threaten to expose you once you got started? Is that why you killed her?"
"We haven't planned anything, we had no involvement in her killing," John stepped in, shaking his head as was necessary for the physicality of his outburst.
"She knew what was going to happen, what's happening now," Bennett continued in his strict tone of voice, "but so do you and your friend," He took in a deep breath, "John, the NSA knows what you've been doing in the years since you've left, sure we didn't find or properly convict you in that time, we didn't have much need to do so, but given the current circumstances and your implicit involvement, we did all that was necessary to find you and here you are, standing above the body of the lone person that could incriminate you properly." He began to growl a bit as the wrapping strength of his arms increased, "I have no doubts, but let's say you are innocent. Why haven't you called our offices for assistance when you realized the full extent of your destructive operation?" He tossed out an open palm to Interval, "I'm sure he has connections, you could have called the Justice League," the arm returned to its tight clasp, "would you plan on calling them now? To tell them what you know." He paused for a moment, building up tension, "have you told anyone?" He slurred.
John was all but ready to reveal what knowledge he possessed or at the very least formulate a suitable defence for his stone face, but just as his mouth was beginning to slip open Interval stepped in with an outburst, "wait!" Interval shot an arm across John's chest. "Loose ends…" he began, "you're the one who called me," his head leaned back, a cold shiver running up his spine, "you told me where to find the body." Bennett began to groan a little as the speedster swiftly turned over to John, "we're the loose ends." He abruptly looked back to Bennett, "this isn't about what we know. It's about whoever it is we're going to tell. They're trying to incriminate me, cut me off from my contacts. They wanted us here, draw us out. We've been set us up."
"Bennett," John's eyes alone was tantamount to scolding the agent.
Bennett formed half a grin as he begun to take careful steps backwards, on a path previously travelled but forward, back to the strip of forestry that kept this location reasonably private. His ensemble of agents suddenly made their approach towards the centre point marked by the haunting tree, each one slipping a hand within their jackets to presumably retrieve a holstered weapon, "we only need the boy," Bennett peaked in a commanding voice, "do what you will with John but make sure he's dead."
"Well, have you devised any escape plans?" Interval placed his chin on his shoulder closest to John, forming fists and arranging his feet into a formidable battle posture.
"I uh," John raised a brow, "I was hoping you'd have something figured out by now," he flexed his fingers at individual tempos along the sides of his legs as he came to join Interval in line, assuming his own posture of readiness for conflict. Like that of his fast footed friend, he was searching through the multitude of agents, his former colleagues, whom were now coming close to engulfing them. Each one held an energy powered hand gun in their direction, notable characteristics being the white box shaped barrel and the sparkling blue flame that enveloped the tip. "Can't you just speed blitz the area?"
"And then go where?" Interval countered with a rhetorical question, "I could attempt to disarm them, but I'm a little weary about the power behind their weapons."
"Anything else you got that could get us out of here quickly?" John asserted his feet into the ground with some solid kicks. He slipped his right hand into the corresponding side pocket of his jacket, a move Interval noticed immediately.
"What are you doing?" Interval became puzzled.
"Notifying Jadelynn about our impending doom," John nodded, "well unless you've really got something…?"
"I could vibrate us through the ground," Interval responded hastily, "but there's no guarantee that we'll find our way out from where ever it is we end up," he looked to John with a small gulp, "if I'm even able to reconstitute our bodies over long periods of time."
The agents were beginning to slow down when they came within ten paces of encountering the centred Interval and John, a fact the two duly noticed for its negative connotations, but before triggers could be pulled and murderous violence could be exacted, a startling surprise appeared overhead: one of the NSA squad vehicles. The large, green domed front vehicle was in full gear, with the blades of its hovering apparatus and wing tailed engines pounding away at full strength, creating a mildly disruptive wind storm beneath in addition to a deafening chirp. In a swift motion, the vehicle did a full hundred and eighty degree turn, bringing the back of vehicle towards Interval and John. Needless to say, all the agents present, including that of Bennett, we're completely stumped by this sudden arrival, uncertain as to whether they were still authorized to shoot for the kill. The vehicle began to descend, not slowly or with any any degree of care, just straight on through those bending arm like branches thus producing a multitude of heavy scratches, snaps and breaks, destroying the trees globe like shape. Moments later, the ground was littered with dried up husks of dead wood but in the end, the vehicle came to rest soundly on the ground, protecting Interval and John from the face of Bennett with its massive form. Interval and John watched with inquisitive delight as the door enfranchised within the armour of the vehicle split horizontally at its centre, soon absorbing the cut pieces into the ceiling or the floor accordingly within seconds. Through the bright light of the interior came a man dressed in a dark suit, another NSA agent, but sooner had he arrived at the ledge of the full sized door frame, he was summarily chucked to the ground but what seemed to be a hefty kick to his lower back. It was that redheaded agent from the XS laboratory living up to his association with the term klutz. On the damp soil displaced ground he cradled his sore head and blinked with an odd discretion, truly dumfounded and confused of his location.
"Get in," Her voice was sharp. It was Jadelynn standing in the door frame of the vehicle.
"Don't just stand there, shoot them down!" Bennett's cries for action were met with a chorus of thunderous booms, each agent following through on what they had been ordered to do all along. One shot after another rang off in an assortment of diseased energy parcels no bigger than a decimal dot, spiralling and engulfing one another in a round puck like shape before making contact with the broadsides of the armoured vehicle, explosively denting it with their might. Their actions, however, failed to make an impact on the situation. John and Interval had already been shuffled into vehicle which hastily soared off the moment it fell under the impressive display of fire.
The vacated grounds left a sense deprived agent in full view of his superior officer whom relished in his disapproval for the failure of this agent. Bennett looked down upon him, shaking his head; their objectives had been foiled, their fugitives had escaped, and a vehicle was stolen.
"I thought I told you to get ready to move," John cried in a deep baritone that only he could perform, Jadelynn in both mind and eye. The interior of the stolen NSA vehicle was quite spacious and adequately plain in its smothering grey shade; it fit incredibly well with external view. Along the sides were two step-up balconies no wider then what was accessible to a full sized person. Set up upon these balconies were four black painted steel chairs, two to each side, notable for their perfectly circle seating plates, meagre inch and a half rounded bands that acted as a back rests, and stool like silvery cylinders used to cement them in their positions. Desk like apparatuses lined the walls just above the stools, decked out with various touch screens and keypads that operated the full sized wall screens, currently in their offline black shade. The Balcony continued into the front of the vehicle, taking up the lower portion of the globe where the primary control panel, a thin panel about two feet across and one third that along the sides, was enfranchised on two poles that held it up at about waist height.
Jadelynn was standing upon the front of the balcony, eyes fixated upon the interior side of the thick visor strip that circled around the forward green dome as she piloted the vehicle. The interior side of the visor served to showcase statistical and navigation information coloured in a shade of green more neon and digital in its orientation, providing Jadelynn with a variety of paths to which the auto-pilot could modulate to; being who she was however, she ignored all of its prompts. Her hands slapped on to the bulging palm sized domes that rose out from the primary control panel, perfectly aligned to the position of her hands, "well, from where I was watching, you needed my help," she spat out with a feisty flair, "they haven't found us yet!"
"We need to get back to the complex, and quick," John, along with Interval, rushed up Jadelynn's side, "but they'll have a tracking device in this vehicle. Let's ditch it on the other side of this pass and continue on foot," he looked across to Interval whom nodded in confirmation, pounding his hands together in symbolic fortitude. "This is just great though," John's usual form of modestly proper language seemed to fall apart in the moment with his heart racing and his pores sweating, "no wonder there's no one working on this problem, everyone's complicit with it.
"They wanted to kill you," Interval began, taking a small step back from his friends, "but not me. They 'wanted' me," his head lowered as he became completely lost in thought but sharply peaked up several seconds later, "I wonder what that means."
"There they are, safe, safe as it's always been, never to be touched, just like dad always intended," Jai moaned in the presence of his sister Iris. At current, the two of them stood within a rather cramped room though suitably fit to their presence in addition to a soundly smoothed circular shaped pedestal that rose from the floor's absolute centre, peaking at approximately waist height for the nearby standing Iris. Like all dwelling holes under the West's ownership, the room was brightly lit and pristinely white in all facets; the walls, ceilings, floor, pedestal and elevator door which nearly took up the entirety of the wall it was enfranchised in. Jai was leaning up against this wall, the massive musculature of his back forcing him to land nearly half of it on the elevator door. He nonchalantly crossed his arms over his chest while something of a scowl formed upon his face.
The height at which the solid pedestal was set forced the incredibly tall Iris to lean down somewhat in order to examine the items it carried on its back. The items in question were three shards of a broken gem, a cobalt blue gem, held suspended within three long glass tubes sizable to fit them. They were reasonably long, over an inch, sharp and angled along bizarre lines, indeed, judging from their meagre composition and tangled shape, they would never fit together; this was not the full gem. Every time these pieces fell upon Iris's eyes, she swore she saw majestic flames acting within their nature all while being enforced by the shard's shape. "I just wanted to make sure," Iris, after much hesitation, let her knees buckle and finally bend, bringing her down to eye level with the gems, her hands clutching around the circular edge of the pedestal for balance, "now that he knows we have the gem."
"Jace?" Jai suddenly lurched off from the wall, arms falling flat to his sides.
"He knows about the cobalt blue gem, Jai," Iris pressed her hands against the pedestal, rising up to her full stance. She had briefly glanced up to Jai but inevitably, her focus fell back upon the flaming spectacle layered within the mysterious magical blue gem pieces, "he sounded like he wanted it. Knowing what we do about him and that he probably knows what it's capable of doing for him… he'll stop at nothing to have it," she let free a disgruntled sigh, "I don't know why, but Max has left us with a curse."
"Oh don't say that Iris," Jai shook his head, "he's just a kind whose made some stupid decisions with his powers. He cares about what's happening here, what happening now, even if you haven't noticed it. Why do you think he's trying to keep a low profile?" Jai stepped up to the other side of the pedestal, becoming quite intrigued by the gem pieces himself, "he's studied the history of this era, whatever's going on, its freaked him out real good cause it's not something he's not read up on."
"He might know too much about this era though," Iris slipped a hand around the side of the pedestal, reaching for a thin square blue button embedded within the surface. She pressed the button with ease and slowly, the glass cylinders and the treasures they held began to descend into the solidness of the pedestal which in turn furthered the descent into the ground by falling in itself, "for all we know, this is supposed to happen. He was supposed to come here, to be the master mind behind what's happening here. How do we even know its Uncle Max who left him here? His word?" She gingerly stepped around the pedestal when its height had decreased to her shin, getting onto a pathway to the elevator door where Jai soon joined her with a sharp turn, "I'm not going to let him destroy everything our father's built," she nodded, "if the NSA think he's involved, well, I think we need to take them up on their evidence. And if it is as bad as they're making it out to be, we might need to do more. I may have to make good on my contacts with the Justice League." She sighed, feeling the penetrating stare from Jai, "I don't like the NSA any more than you do, but we do need them to keep the power running on dad's dream." When they had both come to line up in front of the elevator door, it moved with a swivel, sucked into its corresponding slot. The cleanliness of the elevator matched the room and was capsule like in shape, "we need to keep an eye on Jace, I don't trust him. I can't." The door slid back into its position upon their entry and at a near instance, the slick soft tempered roar of the elevator's engines erupted; they were steadily ascending.
"You've been suspicious of him the first day you met," Jai placed a calming hand upon Iris's shoulder, one of the few people capable of doing so on account of their near levelling height, "even if we give him the gem pieces, it's not as though he can do anything with them. It's not the full gem, and then…" he shook his head awkwardly, "we don't even understand fully how it works…its magic. Not a special area that I think he has over us."
"You don't understand the gem," Iris sharply turned her chin to Jai, levelling her eyes into him, "all you need is one, then you can find all its pieces," she took in a deep relieving breath, "you don't know what it's like to hold one. All the knowledge it possesses, all its power…there's a reason why dad kept it fragmented and lost. It's going to corrupt him."
"He doesn't even know where it is," Jai's tone of voice became peaceful, as though he had fully come to understand and respect his sister's position, "he's poured himself over our building designs, but the storage room isn't registered. He won't know where to start looking." The twirling rotation sounds of the elevator engine came to an abrupt stop in the conclusion of his words, the door soon following in junction, sliding inward on the capsule like curve of the elevator, straight into the slot built to fit it. To an odd kind of dismay, one so knowledgeable to them and yet this time truly cementing it, the opening of the elevator door revealed the family room of their house, the elevator shaft being within the cobblestone pillar that rose up the centre of the room, the door itself thus being on the opposite side of the television screen emplacement where the fire place would have been expected to be.
"It's not exactly the best hiding spot," Iris groaned as she stepped out from the elevator. When both had successfully exited and its primary door returned to its closed position, Jai set about grabbing the rock filled flaps held out to the sides of the pillar like cabinet doors, lined up on barely noticeable hinges. A simple flick of his wrists and the flaps came to close overtop of the elevator door, the mixing and matching of stones being perfectly matched within one another so as to not draw any suspicion.
"It's the last place anyone would look," Jai smiled a closed lipped smile, evident sarcasm on the tip of his tongue.
"Jai…" Iris shook her head as she marched around to around the pillar of false stones, her inside leg mildly scrapping along the edge of one of the intensely packed green couches that sat in a lined square around the television screen, "the worlds coming to an end, I need to do something…I need…."
"A break," Jai softly spoke as he followed in behind her, "you're over stressed, over tired. Maybe it's time for a vacation," he shrugged his shoulders, "it's been a long time since we've talked to Mom's family, maybe we should go visit."
"Korea is nice this time of year," Iris paused in her steps, forming a small smirk as she reminisced on old memories, "and I've always wanted to get in greater touch with our family heritage, no matter how strained…but yeah," she gulped, "since dad disappeared, I've just never had the time." She shook away Jai's attempts to lock eyes, "I don't even have time now, I've got to do something about this world ending crisis…."
"Well, if world is really ending," Jai once more placed a calm hand upon her shoulder, drawing her to turn around, facing one another with weakly held smiles, "maybe it's time you got too doing those things you kept missing out on."
The chirp of the doorbell suddenly rung, several times in fact before it cemented within the siblings. It threw the two of them into a jumbled mess of wandering eyes and shaky heads, an awkward situation to say the least. A remedy was soon enacted when Iris blistered to the front door at super speed leaving Jai flustered; it was just something he never seemed to get used to despite its all too common occurrence in this home of his. Paused in front of the heavy wood door, Iris's hand set to wrapping around the sparkling bronzed door knob, twisting it as was necessary to release its inner workings. Unlatched and moved aside, the absence of a door revealed that of a slick black haired friend standing upon the frontward balcony as though he'd been waiting to be answered and invited in for some time, utterly perturbed. It was their government stooge, Robert, dressed in his standard dark suit with the addition of a matching long coat made of the finest cloth. "He'll see you," he nodded with a somewhat disturbed expression on his face. He wasn't exactly eager to step inside West home, but in quite a bit of oddness, he nonetheless waddled his upper body forward as though he intended to do so, his feet however, refusing to follow through, "our young savant…" he paced himself with caution, "he wants to set up a meeting."
Only a few day-light bulbs served to illuminate the room Agent Bennett walked through, each one fixed in such a way that a pathway was marked by the circular imprint they formed on the incredible hard yet smooth faced floor, their edges just touching upon one another in their line. Bennett followed this path diligently, every step he took echoing throughout the massive cleansed room. The shade of this room was model white, plastered like thick hardened rubber on the floor, walls and ceiling, furthermore being considerably bright, light a white dwarf star, where the lights' imprint touched. As this was, the surrounding regions outside the path of lights were left in a chaotic mix of grey shades upfront, lingering into blackness as it trailed off towards unseen walls. The path set by the lights inevitably led to what was quite literally a six foot wide basin chair, one ever so plain in its bare whiteness, as was fitting to the form of this room, but ever so unique in its round ledged shape. Within three light spaces, Bennett began to make out the details of figure lying within it, a young man who flicked through the multiple images shown within the lends of his view-master toy, a red coloured binocular like box fed with a cardboard wheel of images that turned with the pressing of crank, to say the least, it was a very old fashioned toy common to an era prior to the twenty-first century. The figure's feet were just peeking out of over the chair's side, a necessity since space was needed for the top of his head to fit beneath the cut off line of the chair. With a finger on the view-master's crank, he certainly appeared to be enjoying himself if not only ample in his comfort.
"I was just thinking to myself," the boy clicked the crank of his view-master, a new image filtering in upon the command given, "what if I could take the time line and make it into multiple single frame images, a picture that marks an all too special moment," his voice was cheery, uplifting almost. It was so unnerving in this way that Bennett could not help but tense a little, standing now just three strides back of the chair, "if they're all small enough, you could view it all at once, get the big picture as it were, a picture of the universe," he clicked the device once more, installing a new picture to be viewed, "you could see the past as it unfolds or take a look at the future before it happens. Now imagine having all that downloaded into your brain," with the bending of his legs, his feet fell inwards of the chair's ledge. In a swift movement, he twirled the entirety of his body to the front, in so far as he came face to face with Bennett, albeit still with the view master covering his eyes, "now imagine what you would do if you could jump into one of those pictures, knowing full well of what was to become," the smile that he formed was impossibly wide, his teeth so preposterously clean. He suddenly tore the view-master from his face and in a simple flick of his wrist the view-master flew out from his grasp, smashing against the ground at a near instance, straight into a mess of bouncing plastic, "but then, you change things, and suddenly those pictures that you saw, well, they don't exist, not the way you saw them anyway." His eyes seemed to widen with exuberance, "still, what you know, well that ought to prevent the worst of things," he hopped right on out of his chair and marched on over to the bemused Bennett, "I wonder if I could use that to explain your lack of competence…."
The costume this boy wore was nearly identical to Interval's save his family's scarlet red had been replaced with a crystal like blue, the black replaced with a pristine white. There was the shin high boots, the stunted tight gloves that meagrely reached beyond his wrists, a full cowl piece with blue tinted bubble goggles, the circular silver caps over his ears with stylized bolts trailing out from their centres, and, most importantly, the Flash emblem, a shock of silver lightning blasting through a circle of white, centred on his chest. Bennett had seen him several times today but none of which in person.
"The mark isn't dead," Bennett held to his standard sternness in articulating his voice, "and the boy was not apprehended."
"Yes…! Wow!" From the sides of the boy's head, his hands, stiff and flat as could be, were tossed out and held shaking a short distance away, shaking in anger, "have you not been listening to a word I've been saying?" Despite this acquired attitude however, he did not seem to break from the chuckle like gurgle in his voice.
"If we could be granted some more time," Bennett became somewhat pleading in his tone.
"Nah..." the boy shook out a hand on the pivot of his wrist, a sign of disapproval as he turned away from Bennett. "I grow tired of these minor adjustments," he slapped his hands together, drawing them to his knelt over chest while his sharp tooth smile seemingly intensified, "I think I need to take a more hands on approach, I'll be handling my brother in speed personally from here on out." He suddenly peaked up, smile turning into a bit of a frown as he turned to look back at Bennett, "I trust that the West family has been dealt with?"
With nary a warning sign, Bennett suddenly lunged towards the boy, his fingers tensed and ready to rip away at the boy's chest with an animal's ferocity engrained in his eyes albeit it covered in his straight rimmed green tinted glasses. Upon touch, he amassed bunches of the boy's costume within his fingertips, using what leverage he amassed to pull him up tight while posing what little height advantage he had as a factor of intimidation. "I've had it up to here with you meta-human freaks! You haven't provided us with one weapon to fight this coming war, all you've done is talk, and I for one am growing quite tired of waiting for you to fulfil your commitments! The West family stays in business as long as we can use them."
The boy's rather jovial features rapidly declined, becoming the complete opposite of such being with a tightened jaw, eyes so sharply angled, and a face so awfully red its stood out from the bright hues of his costume, "don't touch me!" his hands slapped down Bennett's hold, his right leg lifting slightly as though he fully intended to lean into a kick, but as was to be fortunate for the NSA agent, he relented his anger with his now trademarked smile. He chuckled as Bennett stepped away completely horrified, "I have no idea what you've been doing with yourself," his fingertips touched together over his chest, elbows shooting out to his sides as a result.
Shaken up from this strange moment, Bennett stumbled along backwards, blindly unaware of what, or whom, exactly awaited him. A sudden thump of his head against something solid and he finally found himself starring up at another familiar figure also noted for their mastery of speed. He was a strong physical being with a broad shoulder line and muscles that could really only be compared to balloon in shape. Strange as it might be, the costume and apparel of this being was similar in image to that of The Flash; the deep scarlet colouration and the myriad of golden lightning bolts holding much prominence, with the most significant and noteworthy feature for true association being the logo enfranchised on a belt chain that rode from down from one shoulder and around the opposite side. The dark scarlet was present in his cowl piece, his upper arms to just past down his elbows, and down along his leggings while everything else, more specifically his chest, was very much black. Around his knees where golden colour bulbs that led into inch wide steel silvery shined bands that circled around his legs rung by rung all the way to the edge of the massive feet with a full plate of gold capping off the entirety of the soles. The pattern of steel bands was also present along the full length of his forearms, though the finality of gold was neither around his wrists or finger tips but rather at the presumed beginning, near to his elbow, in intricate jagged cuts that appeared very much like stylized lightning bolt. His belt was at least three inches wide in the vertical sense and, as was the theme, shaped into a golden lightning bolt though with much greater points, a somewhat capital 'v' being a prominent centerpiece of his waist. He stood there, staring down at the frightened Bennett, soon to be joined by another in a blink of an eye. They were so similar in stature, that it could only be said that they resembled clones. Bennett knew full well who they were, what they were: Hyperguard.
"You must excuse me," the younger speedster grabbed Bennett's attention, "but I do have other clientele that I must satisfy to stay in business," he turned his back to the man, "I no longer have need for your services. Do see that Special Agent Bennett is shown the way out." Though he heard the distracting scuffles of the agent shaking off the grip of the Hyperguard and marching off under his own steam, he paid to it no attention, already lost within his thoughts, knowing full well that in there, his mind, he was not alone, at least for the moment.
"Cobalt Blue," a soft voice cried out from the young speedster's left side causing him to open his wide smile and turn in its direction. Through the darkness she came, a tall woman with the firmest of body structures and the most delicate of pale white skin, a most notable characteristic given that her hair and eyes were coloured like an open fire, continuously burning away with unmatched ferocity. She was unearthly in just about every way. Of her clothing, a description of simplicity rang throughout, wearing for the most part only a full bodied off white suit, as was necessary to see difference to her skin tone, that clung suitably tight to her musculature. Two thick red glistening cloths crossed over her chest, pinned in the upper quadrants of her shoulder with two blossoming yellow buttons, reasonably wide to be palm sized. The emplacement of these buttons kept up a rather flowing blue cape, the kind that curved and bunched into itself while enticed in movement; it was truly a beautiful spectacle as she marched onward. To cap off her image were shin high boots, the kind so tightly bound to her feet so as to reveal their very facets, and a rather scarcely covering skirt that curled and weaved very much like her cape.
"Miss Martian," Cobalt Blue knelt his head, lowly as the Martian came to stand within close proximity, "you are looking most ravishing as always, what I wouldn't give to be by your side at all times…."
"Have my potential accusers been dealt with deathly blows?" Miss Martian slipped a hand beneath the boy's chin, drawing him to raise his head and eye her politely.
"Not as intended in your stratagem I'm afraid. I fear you put too much trust in the humans of this time, there are so incapable of completing even the most simplest of tasks," Cobalt Blue relented with a closed lipped smile, "I must contend that it is truly a blessing you have found me here, that I may be your most outstanding subject."
"You have not then acquired what you desire of this planet?" Miss Martian's soft voice turned to a low tremor, her wide angled burning eyes appearing to be on the verge of pouting, "you know there is not much time remaining, I'd hate for you to leave here disappointed."
"I have no concern for such a feeling," Cobalt Blue steadfastly responded, "I have but the need of my brother in speed, Jace Allen, and a few sparse instruments and items belonging to the long deceased Wally West but in truth," he knelt his head a bit, "I care not for such things if you do not succeed in your plight, for they would truly be frivolous. I only wish for the success of yourself, for the survival of your people."
"I feel this in you and it thrills me to hear it also," Miss Martian's spirits appeared to rise as she reached her hands for the speedster's shoulders, drawing contact with his eyes once more, "you desire then, to also become more involved?"
"I shall succeed where these poor specimens of the human species you contracted have failed, I assure you of that," Cobalt Blue smiled in assurance, "my involvement has been small in the past, but all has been set in place."
"Then, let us move on to your over commitments, the social kind," Miss Martian's hands slipped from Cobalt Blue shoulders as she took to waltzing alongside him, moving to the opposing wall from which she came, "romance me, boy."
Cobalt Blue pounded a fist into his chest and upheld his grin as he let his eyes wander through the flaps of the Martian's beautifully flowing cape, "with pleasure."