Chapter 2 – Ready, Set, Go.
Barry woke up with the dull sense that he'd forgotten something important. It was that unnerving feeling that stuck in the back of his mind that actually got Barry to wake up fully. With a low groan of discomfort, Barry shifted the weight of his shoulders only to realize how horribly sore he was.
It almost felt like he'd had a night out drinking and was now being punished for it – but Barry's remaining reason reminded him that they were practically incapable of getting drunk. Unless he was having some of the special stuff that Bruce frequently prohibited him from taking – despite having made it himself specifically for Barry – so Barry could scratch off that possibility.
Without that as an option, Barry was left to try and pick himself back up off the cold floor and piece together the events of the day before. It came back slowly, fragmented and hazy, but gradually Barry remembered the small disaster that was yesterday.
Barry remembered his morning, almost fondly. "Right…Noire made breakfast." He muttered under his breath before chuckling quietly. "And I was late."
No doubt Singh would be on his ass for not returning to the office after he rushed out and the small ache in his foot reminded him of the almost crippling attack White had fired off at him.
Finally he remembered the fight he had with Black and his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He hadn't meant for them to fight like that, and then Black ran out on him. That jogged his memory and abruptly Barry was on his feet, ignoring the way his every bone screamed and ached in protest. He couldn't lie down and wait for his body to be ready to move – what sort of guardian would he be if he let Noire run around the city at night without him?
Once he was on his feet however the rest of the world seemed to catch up with him and Barry realized that there was more to be concerned about than he had initially thought.
His suit was gone. The red material nowhere in sight and instead he was back in his casual clothes but Barry had no recollection of changing before he lost consciousness.
Gradually Barry's mind was catching back up with everything else and he knew with a dull sense of dread that he'd been kidnapped. But this house was his, the walls and furniture were all familiar – this was where he'd dropped and nothing seemed to have changed in the time he was out of it, asides from his small wardrobe alteration.
"Okay…" Barry muttered under his breath, wearily looking around his house. "…so this is different?"
It took a few seconds for the accuracy of his own words to really sink in. Even though the surroundings were familiar there was a sort of unease about the house that set Barry on edge. A constant hazy fog seemed to linger in his mind and Barry felt vaguely ill, like he had a mildly upset stomach that just refused to leave him be. The entire place seemed somehow distant from reality, almost like a dream but the aching in Barry's bones reminded him that he was very much awake.
"Noire?" Barry called out into the house, hoping maybe the kid would have come back while he was out but for his efforts Barry was met with stony silence. Oh, Noire could still very well be lurking around and just giving him the usual cold shoulder treatment but Barry wasn't getting that vibe. This house felt very empty.
Empty and not at all his own. All those years of being a superhero did tend to give someone an otherworldly sense for this sort of thing, and so when Barry began to look around his own home, he did so cautiously.
At first the house seemed to be an almost perfect replica, it was only in the smallest details that Barry's skin began to crawl. That place by the staircase that had always let out an annoying creak when trodden on remained eerily silent. The photos on the walls were familiar but the faces weren't quiet right – one even featured a smiling Noire which was unnatural in itself.
Even the smell of the house was off, in the way that it simply wasn't there. The longer Barry was in his own home the more he came to notice the silence and stillness of it. Nothing stirred, he couldn't hear the faint buzz of electricity from the various appliances scattered the house or even the outside rustling of leaves.
Actually it was getting sort of annoying. Barry quickly found himself agitated by the loss of subtle stimulation, being in a place that felt so entirely dead made him feel out of place. It made him feel slow.
Naturally Barry decided the first thing he was going to do, was leave. Doing his best to ignore the uneasy feeling in the bottom of his gut and the loss of his costume, Barry made for the front door.
In hindsight he shouldn't have been surprised when it didn't open.
The first rough jerk on the handle only gave Barry a slight rattle from the door but it remained firmly stuck in place. He tried it three more times for good measure but the door didn't seem ready to budge. By the fifth try Barry was feeling more than a little insulted.
"It's a door." He muttered under his breath in disbelief. "And I am in the Justice League. Come on!" Evidently the door did not see the value to being in the justice league and still refused to open even when Barry tried to jerk it open with both hands.
"Fine." Seething the word, Barry eyed the offending door coolly before raising his hand. "Let's see how stuck you stay when I vibrate through yo—What?"
Looking between his hand and the door Barry felt his stomach drop, he wasn't vibrating – at all. Try as he might, Barry couldn't for the life of him get his body to shudder in and out of focus in the usual blur of motion, instead his body remained stock still and at a normal, human pace.
Abruptly Barry felt sick. The sort of nausea that hits after a sharp drop and sudden stop, or the realization that you had forgotten something important. It was a disgusting feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach and Barry knew instantly what its source was.
Barry was cut off from the speed force.
"And it just gets better." Barry moaned lowly, raking his fingers through his hair as he fought down a mix of bile and frustrated screaming.
The situation had gone from weird to potential super villain scheme levels, on Barry's 'dangerous shit o'meter'. Again he ran over the events of the day prior through his skull, looking for something he might have missed in all of this.
He ran over things that had been said to him, things that had left his own mouth in a hazy rush of memories and words. Just looking for something, anything that might help him understand this otherworldly feel he was getting. It was only when he finally grasped the first thread of memory about what came after his fight with Noire that something happened.
"Flash."
Immediately Barry was upright, spinning around to seek out the source of the voice. It jogged the remainder of his memory, the moments before he'd passed out Barry recalled hearing this same voice speaking to him. But now he could not locate the body it belonged to, instead the word hung in the air eerily as if it had come from nowhere.
"A speaker?" Barry guessed, voice guarded as his eyes swept over the deceptively familiar house again, seeking out anything that would give him some sort of leg up on this guy. He assumed it was a man, after all any woman with a voice like that was something the world wasn't quite ready to handle just yet.
"Something of the sort." The disembodied voice confessed with a note of amusement. "But you won't find any speakers here Mr. Flash."
"Alright, and where exactly is here?" Barry called back through the air while he inched back a few steps, as if he expected a surprise attack. One he wouldn't be able to counter easily with the loss of his speed.
"Why, Mr. Flash this is your home. Is it not?" Okay, Barry was going to have an issue with this guy's attitude.
"Can we drop the 'Mr Flash' part? Sounds so old." Banter with villains came as second nature but it was exceedingly difficult to do so without a visual on the opponent.
"My apologies, should I call you Mr. Allen instead?"
A cold shiver ran up Barry's spine when the stranger called him by his name. He was suppose to keep his identity a secret and here a complete stranger knew it before Barry even knew his villain name. Actually, Barry wasn't sure the man was even a villain just yet but this was definitely giving him that super villain 'I'm going to murder your family' vibe.
"Did that surprise you Mr. Allen? Try not to feel too bad about it, I knew your name before I knew the hero 'Flash'." Briefly silence filled the house again and Barry recognized it as the stranger taking a moment to think. "On second thought, I think we will stick to Allen – it would feel wrong to call you the 'Flash' like that title really belonged to you."
"Hate to break it to you, but I'm the one and only." Barry crowed proudly, not about to let some stranger bash his good doing name.
"Ha…we'll see." The bastard had the poor manners to laugh at him!
"Hey, I'm feeling a bit put out here man. You seem to have all these names for me and I don't know what to call you."
Now fairly certain that there wasn't going to be a sudden attack from the dark, Barry began to creep away from the door. His eyes continued their rapid scan of the house, looking for cameras or speakers – anything to help him find some sort of blind spot he could abuse.
"That's very polite of you. Even if it's just a little rudely asked." The stranger was rattling on while Barry moved around the house.
"Not hearing a name here bud." Barry called while peeking into the kitchen. Without his powers Barry was going to have to look to alternative means of protecting himself – a knife might not be the worst idea in the world but it'd been a while since he'd had to resort to such violent means. But protection was protection.
There was a set of them in Barry's kitchen, all stuck into the same wooden holder. There had been a number of occasions where Barry had been cooking and turned to Barry brandishing one of these knives. He hadn't actually tried stabbing Barry yet but…there was a first time for everything right?
As of right now, Barry decided to take one of the larger knives. He figured he probably wouldn't use it to harm so much as scare, if he got his hands on this guy he needed some sort of intimidation factor. Size equaled more scare points he was fairly sure.
"Crooked."
The name came calmly and took Barry off guard – he'd almost forgotten that he'd asked the man for a name.
"You may call me the Crooked Man." The stranger elaborated in that same calm tone. "It's the only name I have now Mr. Allen."
Barry had frozen, his hand still reaching for the knife he'd been approaching. The sound of the man's name rung eerily in his ears, causing his entire body to freeze in recognition. Barry knew that name, he knew the title.
"Crooked Man…?" Barry repeated slowly, the very words making his stomach drop in a horrible twisting feeling.
"You know it?" Crooked Man asked, a note of surprise dropping into his words but it was undeniably a pleasant surprise to the man. "You know me?"
"You're dead." The words came out as little more than a disbelieving whisper.
Silence. Barry received nothing but silence from the man. With a frustrated growl Barry snatched up the knife he'd been going for and stalked back into the living room, words flying from his mouth in a confused rage.
"They said that you died. Put a bullet between your eyes!" Barry shouted into the seemingly empty house. "Bats even saw you drop off the seventh floor! You're dead. You can't be the same man from back then."
"Do you like games Mr. Allen?"
The question caught Barry by surprise, the abruptness of it throwing him off his game. His stunned silence only prompted the Crooked Man to keep talking.
"I do. Always have– but I never had anyone to play with. Not until recently. So you know what I did? I created games for one, games designed to judge character and worth – tests if you will. I designed all sorts of games, but no matter which one I played – I always lost. Upsetting really."
If Barry had the tongue to do so, he would have made comment on the fact that it really was sad to lose at a game you made up yourself. But the Crooked Man kept talking, leaving no room for interruption.
"But today you and I are going to play together. I made a game just for you – in truth it's not a hard game and of course I promise to reward you should you win."
"I highly doubt that." Barry scoffed bitterly.
"You have my word, I always keep my word." He'd heard that before.
"And what do I win huh?" Barry demanded, hardly entertaining the idea of the man being honest but he wanted to keep the guy talking. Barry needed answers and most of all he needed reassurance. Closure, to know that this Crooked Man was not the same as the one that had died months ago.
"Your life." Typical. "Your title, your worth – everything you have to offer. I will return it, all you must do is complete one simple task."
"That is?"
The fact Barry was even entertaining this was ludicrous but without the speed force flowing through his veins, Barry figured he'd have to play along at least for a short time.
"Simply make it to the furthermost room of the house. You complete my five challenges and the way out is yours."
From what he'd learnt from other villains over the years was that – they did so love their own plans. If this guy wanted to play a game and Barry played along – he'd certainly buy more time.
Time to do what Barry wasn't entirely sure, but it was better than nothing.
"Alright, you have yourself a player." Barry agreed, still feeling a little odd talking to the air – but logically it wasn't all that different to the coms that he and the team used on missions or the rare occasions where they'd use a mental link. Maybe it was the fact he was talking to someone with intentions of possibly killing him that made the whole ordeal uncanny.
"I knew you'd enjoy this!" The strangest thing was the Crooked Man sounded genuinely pleased. "I'll open the first door, pass through that and we'll begin. Now remember if you should fail any of the tasks then it's an automatic failure."
"Whoa, whoa – hold the phone for just a moment! You haven't told me anything about these 'challenges' like are we talking Canary's training routine or arguing with Batman type challenge?"
There was a pause and Barry had the sinking feeling he was going to have to do this blind but finally the man began to speak again, slow and reluctant. "What is a game without rules?" He lamented in disappointment. "Very well, here are the rules little runner."
"Each trial will consist of one area, once completed a door or other path out will be revealed and you may pass into the next area of your test. In order to complete these challenges you must do two things. The first is very simple – you will be required to answer a riddle. They're not particularly hard, but I think they're important for you to answer."
"Taking a page out of Nigma's book huh?" Barry muttered under his breath but his snide comment went either unnoticed or ignored.
"The second part to your trails can be considerably harder but no less simple. You'll be required to be a hero."
Barry laughed. He couldn't bite back the scoff that those words prompted. "A hero?" He repeated indignantly. "Sorry, how about we try this again. Hello, nice to meet you – I'm the Flash. Remember?"
"Perhaps." What the hell did that mean? "But without your speed, what sort of hero could you possibly be? Oh – on that note, lets begin your first trail. Mind your arms."
"Hey, hold on just a damn minute!" Barry didn't have enough information. What did the man need by being a hero? How was he supposed to beat these challenges with vague instructions like that?
How had the man cut him off from the speed force, how had he found out his identity, what was this place, how had be made it in the first place and most importantly, why was he doing this? What did this man have to gain from doing this in the first place?
Barry had a mountain of questions but none of them were getting answers right then, without a word from the ethereal voice – Barry was dropped straight through the floor. He let out a rather undignified yelp as the floor was suddenly displaced from under his feet and Barry was falling. The imposter house he'd vaguely recognized as home vanishing up overhead as Barry plummeted into the darkness below.
Unlike last time he'd fallen, Barry did not have the good fortune to pass out and so when his knees hit the ground below, he felt every new bruise he was going to be sporting in vivid detail. The impact was rather anti-climatic really, a low thud and groan from Barry and the downward ride had come to an end.
"Christ…" Barry moaned, hands gripping at his throbbing knees as if he could somehow will away the pain that shot up through his legs from the impact. "Almost forgot what that felt like…" He muttered, knowing that his legs would be sore for a while without the rapid healing of the speed force.
The sound of paper falling caught Barry's attention and he turned his gaze up towards the tunnel he'd fallen through. Fluttering down through it was a single scrap of paper that Barry managed to catch. He didn't know what he'd expected it to say but he was disappointed with it's contents all the same.
'Find my riddle.'
"Oh, now I got to find your challenges too?" At this point Barry was more insulted than he was concerned. Asides from some magic tricks, the man hadn't harmed him or made any of the usual claims. Crooked Man hadn't bragged about besting him, or destroying the world or even killing him – Barry was still at a loss to what his angle was but from what he could guess the man was only bothering him.
That at least meant Central City and friends were safe – but it did leave Barry at a loss.
Slowly Barry eased himself back up to his feet, ignoring the protests from his bruised kneecaps as he straightened up. The place he'd been dropped into was darker than the replica home he'd been in before but Barry still recognized it in a sense. Like a dream that only distantly resembled a place he'd once seen, familiar but just alien enough to be unnerving.
"Alright, if I was a psycho back from the dead – where would I hide a riddle?" Barry muttered, keeping up the external dialogue. It helped to fill in the dead air and calm his nerves – just like mocking a villain seemed to make him feel more daring. Hero 101 really.
Despite the dark, Barry gradually made out solid shapes and images, it was only when his eyes had fully adjusted to the dark that Barry's heart dropped.
"Oh." The place was filled with doors, hundreds and hundreds of doors. "This is going to be a long game isn't it?"
…
…
The news was somehow uninformative, littered with factual errors and yet still, in some bizarre inane way – theatrical. It was like trying to uncover small tidbits of truth from a mass of fictional stories. The sort of stories that started with the words 'based on true events'.
Bruce had always been aware of this and so most all news was taken with a grain of salt. But in all his time observing the soap opera that news had become, there was still merit in its existence. Simple facts like, this man died today or this place has been robbed – were still valid and a majority of the time they were accurate. It was only in the details that the story teller in all humans came into play.
For ratings, viewers or simply entertainment it seemed the news had taken to making up motives, ideas and decisions on the crimes and events of the world. Bruce had always disliked that, the news was a place for simple facts – to present the state of the world, not judge it.
Still, those were minor complaints and as always the news still served its purpose – it was just a matter of looking into things himself rather than believing everything that came from the screen.
However the news was definitely capturing the Batman's attention today. His shift up on the Watchtower consisted of many jobs and small chores that needed his attention. Ranging from fixing gear to planning new strategies – but regardless of what he was working on, Bruce kept the news channels streaming through the background.
Back at his cave he had better means of monitoring Gotham but the Watchtower had to keep eyes and ears on the entire planet and so it became increasingly troublesome to keep things in order. Still there had been a number of times that this constant stream of fear mongering and witch hunts bore fruit.
More than once Bruce had been alerted to a crisis by these programs and more often than not had been able to respond efficiently and effectively. It was good having teammates who could run across oceans and fly – made for a solid response time.
Today however, the thing that caught Bruce's attention wasn't some sort of tragedy in action or threat that needed an immediate response – it was instead a case of bad parenting.
He'd been bent over one of the ear pieces the team used to stay in contact during missions, having to check over the hardware after it took a nasty blast of electricity – Bruce promised himself not to ask exactly why Shizam had taken the wrong one last time, promised himself he wouldn't get angry with the gross carelessness the man had shown. He was still just a child in a lot of ways after all. Still he built his gear to last and Bruce didn't mind fixing up the damaged device – it was an education.
Bruce was almost finished when he caught the muffled screen spitting out familiar names, 'Central City' and 'Flash' standing out among them. Gently placing his equipment down Bruce raised the sound on the system, bringing the quiet drone of information to a listenable volume.
"—and for the fourth time Central City has been host to a brawl between the two meta-humans. According to local sources they're referred to as Monochrome Black and White – and it seems as though the motive behind their fighting is still up for debate." The screen cut away to a scene obviously taken some time ago while interviewing the city folk who had seen or heard of the scuffle.
"They're, I dunno," One young woman was saying, trying to keep herself composed for an interview and only making it halfway. ", opposites? Like they're called Black and White right? So they're probably fighting because they're different. That's what I think anyway."
"Man, I've been watching these two since they first showed up and I'm telling you – they're totally fighting because they have to. Have you seen the way they fight? It's some seriously crazy stuff, like they're going to cancel one another out!" Composure had nothing to do with the second person they interviewed, he seemed to ecstatic about the whole thing to bother with composure.
"I heard every time they fight someone shows up dead. It's kinda scary." A coupe had been interviewed last and the woman of the two did look concerned. "It can't just be a coincidence right?"
The responses ranged from outrage, to fear, to excitement. Bruce noticed the younger the person interviewed the more they leaned towards excitement.
"And then the Flash showed up!" One kid exclaimed to the camera, positively glowing at the mention of the scarlet speedster. "He's so cool, just ran straight in to break them up. He saved the Black one though, I sort of thought that the White one was the good guy."
Bruce frowned, watching as the screen changed to a scene shot during the fight between the monochrome brothers, the exact moment Flash had shown up on the scene. Observing how the fight actually went, Bruce wasn't sure what to make of it at first.
Sure enough Flash ran straight in without thinking and nearly got himself blasted by White, but Bruce did admire how short lived the confrontation had been.
"Batman?" Immediately Bruce paused the feed, turning to face his colleague that had just entered. Superman gave him a quick puzzled look before glancing up at the frozen screens. "Trouble?" He guessed, feet finally touching the ground as he stopped hovering. It seemed like bad manners to hover in the presence of those that walked – something he'd apparently taught to Black.
"Of sorts." Bruce replied flatly, hitting the play button to allow the feed to resume. Both he and Superman watched without a word, but Bruce was sure he saw Clark wince eat time the camera focused in on Black – who was taking a sever thrashing. Bruce was not surprised, he knew the boy's limits and he was certainly no match up for his brother. So it naturally frustrated Bruce to see the child put himself in harms way.
The coverage of the fight was limited, it had been a short encounter but it left marks on the city. Black's body had left a sizable hole in one of the buildings and a few of White's light blasts had scorched and torn up the pavement.
"Should we check in?" Clark asked when Bruce lowered the volume, having decided he'd gotten all the information he needed and the rest was nothing short of gossip.
"No." Bruce answered bluntly, returning to his work on the ear piece while Clark continued to watch his back. Even without looking Bruce knew he would be wearing that worried frown.
Perhaps it was Bruce's fault for having babied Flash and Black in their early days. He'd never failed to help the two when they needed it, even if it was only for small reasons - but that had been when Noire was still practically a toddler. Bruce was only doing what he promised to, so there was no reason to go butting into Central City's business without an invitation from the Flash himself.
Batman loathed it when people came into his city without a formal invite, it was only right to extend the same expectations and common courtesy to himself.
"You're not worried?" Clark pushed the matter, like he always did and Bruce had to bite back down a sigh to keep up his stoic appearance.
"Worry is not something I frequently do Superman." Curt as always, Bruce kept his focus on the gadget under his hands.
"I know." Batman could practically hear the man rolling his eyes with that comment. It didn't surprise him when Superman approached his side, resting one large hand flat against his word space so he could lean down a bit and keep speaking. Bruce didn't understand his need to be close when talking but he allowed it out of habit alone. "But don't you usually check in with those two from time to time? After a fight like that it seems like you ought to."
"The league left the care of Noire Harlow to the Flash." Batman reminded the big red boy scout firmly. "If he were not fit to deal with such things, he would not have been chosen."
Superman was giving him that look again and Bruce quietly cursed him for not earing more to cover his face. Bruce kept his emotions hard to read but Clark frequently bombarded him with expressions that questioned and chided all in one glance.
The silence continued to stretch between them and it didn't seem like Clark had any intentions of letting up any time soon. Frustrated, Bruce pushed his seat back in a single sharp shove and stalked away from the table and man.
"There's no harm in admitting you're concerned about your team mates." Clark called after Bruce's retreating form and the Bat had no doubt he'd be followed by the persistent Daily Planet worker.
"May I remind you that Monochrome Black is not a recognized superhero, nor a justice league member." Bruce pointed out, irritation leaking into his tone and causing the words to become a growl.
"You don't trust him." Clark noted knowingly, casting a judgmental look Bruce's way.
"It is not a matter of trust Superman. It's a simple matter of qualification, of ability." A pause. "He's still only a child."
"Oh don't give me that." Clark crossed his arms over his chest with an indignant huff. "You expect me to believe that the same Batman that defended Shizam's right to be in the league and repeatedly raises the most talented boy heroes the world has ever seen – would deny Black because he's a child?"
Sometimes Superman was able to make sound arguments – Bruce hated those moments.
"We are partners you know Bruce." He let out a small growl at the use of his identity while on the job but Clark blissfully ignored him. "It wouldn't kill you to be a little more honest with me. You trust me to keep your back safe in a fight, trusting me with your thoughts wouldn't be that much of a step up."
"You obviously don't understand the true dangers of the world then." Bruce bit back coldly and much to his frustration, Clark was giving him that kicked puppy look again. Good grief…
"And…" Bruce continued reluctantly. "It is about teaching responsibility."
"To Flash?" Clark sounded surprised and Bruce couldn't help but chuckle. He thought it was obvious.
"Responsibility and the importance of letting others take responsibility." Clark looked confused and Bruce's mouth twitched up into a smile. "Or more accurately to know where the line is between the two."
"You're a piece of work Bruce, leave it to you to create a learning exercise out of this. It's like you're giving him one of those fake babies they give to high school students." Apt, if just a little bit childish. "But…are you really sure that we should leave them alone?"
Clark turned to stare up at the mute screen with a frown. The footage of Flash being caught by one of White's blasts and Black being beaten into next week seemed to be on an endless loop. "They might need some help." Bruce glanced at the screen from the corner of his eye, noting the way Black's body crumpled bonelessly against the Flash's shoulder.
Admittedly it did make him uncomfortable seeing these scenes, seeing the child that had been entrusted to them get beaten senseless by the other child they were suppose to keep an eye on. Norie might have been a handful but Alois was unmanageable – the string of murders in Central City all seemed to link back to White. But Bruce had his reservations.
Despite deciding to stay away, Bruce made a mental note to look into those murders himself. The Central City police weren't having any luck and the Flash wasn't doing much better. Batman figured that they were simply looking in all the wrong places.
Barry had his hands full with Noire – that gave Bruce plenty of time to deal with Alois. Bruce knew a thing or two about renegade family members, perhaps he'd have more luck with White than he had his own. He knew no one else was up to the task and should Alois need to be contained – he was the best choice for the job.
Briefly he considered letting Lantern do it, he had a personal stake in all of this but that was what made him unsuitable. Hal was emotionally invested, it would cloud his judgment – Bruce would not let such a thing distract him from what had to be done.
"Tomorrow evening." Clark almost jumped when Bruce suddenly spoke up. "If they have not made contact by tomorrow evening – in time for the meeting – I will go to see them myself."
Bruce pretended not to see how Clark smiled at him. That sweet, ever thankful smile that told him, Clark didn't think he was as cold as he let on.
He'd be lying if he said it was not somewhat endearing. But it was still equally annoying.