To timjudd655, dilagaf, flowerangel502, DeathCrawler, LewtonSpoons, lizpack, Kurama Yin-Yang, Anthony Ramos, d8rkforcen1ght7, and Kongo Isamu—thank you all for following and favoriting! And special thanks to Hachiko33200 and highlander348 for reviewing!

Hachiko33200: Thank you for your lovely review! I hope you enjoy this chapter.

highlander348: Yes, Karen does have powers. Unlike Barry, hers are developing slowly. In fact, you already have seen one ability—her superhearing. Can you guess what the next one will be? It will have consequences.

I hope all of you are okay and enjoy this chapter. Comments are always welcome!

05 - Metahuman

CENTRAL CITY, 2011. TWO YEARS BEFORE THE PARTICLE ACCELERATOR EXPLOSION.

Karen's phone rang. But it wasn't her phone—it was the station's. She picked it up and, as natural as she could, lifted her voice into a welcoming tone.

"Central City Police Department, how can we help you?"

She glanced around, hoping nobody heard the subtle modulation. She'd been trying out different voices during the week, sometimes lowering her voice to a rasp (as if she were emulating the sexy but mysterious character of a black novel) or making it so high she sounded like Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls. Her accent, due to her whereabouts, was decidedly American, but she was well-versed in faking her French inflection.

She was caught red-handed in all attempts. Human Resources soon called her to request she stop making jokes, even if that hadn't been her intention. And it really wasn't.

She needed a voice. She wasn't mute, obviously, but she needed a certain inflection, a certain tone that set Karen Starr apart. A voice that didn't draw much attention, but still gave "Karen" life.

Well, it was that or remaining passive. She'd already scared too many people with her usual timbre; the lack of inflection, of accent, was apparently unsettling for Americans.

"This is an emergency!" screeched a woman through the line, her high voice making Karen wince. "Someone's stealing across the street and I think my house is next!"

Karen hadn't been trained for this. She was a receptionist, not a nine-one-one dispatcher. But she knew how to deal with hysterical people. This time, she changed her voice into "command" and spoke in short sentences.

"Ma'am, I need you to calm down." The assertiveness threw the victim for a loop, falling silent. "Everything will be fine. What is your address?"

Then, as she gathered as much information as she could, Karen waved her pen at one of the officers to approach. To her disconcert, they ignored her.

No matter how many times she waved, all looked at her—through her—and moved on.

Long fingers touched hers as they drew the pad from her hold. The young man lifted it close to his face and called, "10-91 at Leawood area! 10-63!"

At last, a couple of officers moved. Some shifted past Karen's desk, clapping the young man's shoulder, others to the Emergency Command in the corner of the pit.

"Ma'am, I'm still here," Karen said, eyes fixed on the green ones looking down at her. A nervous smile crossed the young man's face.

"Hi," he whispered. "I'm here for the CSI Assistant's position interview with Director Mendez?"

000•000

CENTRAL CITY. PRESENT TIME.

Karen did not see Barry Allen for the rest of the day. It turned out the recent bank robbery was part of their previous assumption, though this time the witnesses of the Gold City Bank kept saying the perp had somehow conjured a hurricane inside the building. Their statements could be written off as a result of trauma but in the age of technology, more than one client had recorded the entire event on video.

"The sky went black and then BOOM!" said the man clad in a red throw, teeth barely chattering as he told his own version of the events. He was so excited he shook his coffee cup on his own from one side to the other, as if it was impossible to stand still. "Outside was on the inside. Man, it was like there was a thunderstorm in the bank."

With Detective West looking over her shoulder, Karen monitored three different tabs with three different views of the morning's robbery in her laptop. The quality of the video was terrible in all of them because of a blizzard—yes, a freaking blizzard—which then changed into the hurricane that had left a lasting impression on all the witnesses.

"There," said West, pointing at the screen on the top right. Karen minimized the other videos and concentrated on the remaining one, using her program to clear out the imperfections. Still, all she could see was the silhouette of a man walking, casual as you please, out of the bank. Soon, she distinguished a bag of leather in one hand and the blond hair escaping his cap. "Vukovich, suspect is driving a black Mustang, partial plate six-kilo-Charlie-three. Put out an APB."

"Copy that."

"Can you zoom in on him?" West asked Karen.

She clicked and clicked, but it was no use. The perp glanced over his shoulder but then a person ran past him, and he was suddenly gone. Karen could only capture a screenshot of his profile.

"We will be in a lot of trouble if this one turns out like Snart," she said.

"God help us all. Print these for me, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

Joe was about to leave but paused. Then he made the pose: one hand on his hip, the other helping him lean against the desk. The one that meant he was going into Dad-Mode. It baffled Karen to see it up close; she'd never had the Dad-Mode thrown at her.

"How are you holding up?"

She gave him a flinty side glance. "Well, I wasn't one of the people who lost her money because of a freaky blizzard, so I'd say I'm about great. Thank you for asking though, how about you?"

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "I'm tired. Ecstatic, but tired. And worried."

Karen hummed in understanding. "Because of Barry." What else did they have in common?

"He looked fine, right? But aren't there supposed to be after-effects? He got struck by lightning, was in a coma for nine months... and I know he seems okay, but what if he isn't?"

"People who have been struck by lightning have presented confusion, hearing loss, seizures, muscle pains, behavioral changes—" At the look West threw her, she shut up. "I'm just saying, he looks fine. He doesn't even have the Lichtenberg scar anymore."

Then she panicked. Because Barry had not been near her vicinity that day so how, for Rao's sake, could she have spotted that?

But Joe West was still in Dad-Mode. "That's right. You were the one who found him. I don't think I ever thanked you for that."

"I fell into a coma too, so, you really didn't have the chance." Karen tried to smile. She really did. It fell flat, but Joe still seemed able to discern its meaning.

"I didn't like the way you two ended things up," he said, and oh, he wasn't going to bring that up right now, was he? "I still don't, but I'm glad that you could work past that."

Karen knew the correct response to that was offense, perhaps outrage, but she, too, was glad that she'd reacted the way she did back then. That her first act had not been to flee but to help. To help Barry,despite the hurt and biased feelings he evoked.

"It was the right thing to do," she said at last.

Detective West patted her shoulder and left her alone with her thoughts—and a bunch of witnesses who wanted their cellphones back ASAP.

000•000

It was a sick twist of fate that all of them turned to be right. Clyde Mardon was the perp all along and with him came the mystery of the weather changing wherever he went. And though it had been his tool at first—his ticket out of prison—it also happened to be his downfall in the end.

Or so Detective West said.

There were many questions that went unanswered but everyone was ready to sweep the case under the rug. And though she wanted to look further into it, David forbid her from harassing Detective West—he trusted Joe enough to ignore the painful holes in his statement.

And so, the case was closed without much fanfare. The C.C.P.D. focused on the next problem at hand: the sudden flurry of activity from the local crime.

It was well known that most members of the organized crime residing in Central City were nothing but plants. When the Hood began appearing in Starling City, the Bertinellis had fallen sideways and the Chinese Triad quickly overtook their place. The rest, unfortunately, shifted to the nearest thriving city... which happened to be Central. Members of the Odessa Mob and the Falcone family suddenly began to jump out from their hiding places, and the Darbinyans were none too happy about that.

Civilians weren't aware that there was mafia in Central. And this was because the power shift was vague. First, you had the Darbinyan and Santini crime families, who'd settled somewhen in the seventies and whose main work was transporting illegal European goods. The Falcones and Maronis, ever the eternal rivals, came and went depending on their current conflict; no one truly knew what they did in Central.

And finally, there was Intergang. No one wanted Intergang in their city. Karen desperately prayed every night that Intergang never set foot in Central City—they already had their hands full with the rumors of people doing strange things, thank you very much.

No, what they had to worry about now was the looming return of Leonard Snart. Last time, he'd provoked the Santinis' anger by stealing one of their precious cars, an automobile that looked more like an armored tank than a car. The station as a whole feared the Santinis' retaliation.

"Aha," said Mattie, resting her head on her hand while leaning her whole weight onto the table. Her eyes were drooping. "So, how was your day, honey? Don't hold back."

Karen was unimpressed. Mattie tried to not fall onto the table as her friend went to fetch their drinks at the Jitters counter. Karen wore a grimace on the trek back.

"Sorry. I made this about me."

Mattie swallowed back a yawn. "Technically, you made our weekly relaxation day about a dead man... but you lost me at the Santinis. What's the mob got to do with Mardon?"

"Nothing. I got sidetracked."

Considering that once upon a time Karen Starr had been practically mute, Mattie wasn't going to berate her. But it always amused her how nowadays it was easy to rile her up and get her to shut.

When Karen's hand strayed back to her cellphone, Mattie snatched it up and closed the MYSTERIOUS TORNADO WRECKS FARM article. "I'll hold onto this until our date's over."

The blonde grumbled. "It's Me Day, not a date."

"Like I said—only you would make our day about a dead man. That really takes some skill." Then, because Captain Singh had asked her and she did owe him a favor, Mattie said, "So I heard Allen's back."

Predictably, Karen groaned. "Not you too." Her pretty face twisted.

"Captain's orders." Mattie raised her hands in defeat. "If you won't speak to him, you gotta speak with me. Now, remember that I hate Barry Allen with everything I've got in my tiny, blackened heart, so, try to hold back on the details."

Karen tried to return to her previous position: she clasped hands together over the table, an impassive eyebrow waiting for Mattie's next comment. But Mattie knew better—she knew Karen better. Perhaps more than Karen herself did.

And she, like David Singh, was all-too-aware of Karen's unfortunate infatuation with Barry Allen.

"What's there to know? He woke up, he's not sick, we still hate each other's guts—everything's fine. Back to its place, as it should." Then she frowned.

"But?"

She reached into her blazer's pocket. Then she pulled out her hand fisted. "Can you hear something?"

The change of subject did not impress Mattie. "Um, no?"

"Me neither."

Mattie's brow rose. "Okay, you lost me. We were talking about Barry, remember?" She'd prefer that over whatever scheme Karen was cooking up now. "How did we go from him to... this?"

Karen opened her hand. On her palm lay an earbud.

"It's not an earbud. Typical earbuds function as listening devices, but this one's advanced. Very advanced. It works both ways, as a speaker and a mic."

"You found a rich someone's headphone, then."

"No, look—"

Mattie jumped as Karen closed her hand and a crunching noise followed.

"Karen, what did you do?" Mattie hissed. She glanced down—

She pushed far away from the table, a whoa escaping her. Karen jumped forward and seized the front of her shirt, dragging her back to her place. It was a good thing they'd chosen a table on the second floor of the coffee shop because their display made heads turn on the first floor.

"Keep it down, it's not dangerous."

"You just broke private property," Mattie hissed. "Creepy technology, but still definitely not yours!" Her eyes were dead set on Karen, the slight blue glare coming from the blonde's palm making her flinch.

"Would you consider it private if I told you I found it at the Jitters' counter?"

"Yes! That's just another reason for the owners to sue you!"

Raising an eyebrow, Karen reached into her bag... and drew out an exact replica of the earbud she'd squashed.

"I found this one at the station. Not so private now, is it?"

Mattie really didn't want to touch it but damn Karen—she'd known how to pick her curiosity. Much like the other woman, she picked the device from her hand with her forefinger and thumb and brought it close to her eye.

Unlike the other, this one was out of service. There was no light shining from the tiny buttons (screens?) adorning the sides. It looked too much like the bastardized version of a Hands-Free Bluetooth Headset, technologically sleeker but grungy in appearance. Like it was old, but at the same time not.

She told Karen this and the woman nodded. "I thought the same. But it's still too advanced." She took a deep breath. "Which is why I sent the other four pieces I found to Lucius Fox."

Mattie startled so badly she dropped the object on the table. It was no wonder their meetings often got cut to only once a week. Days like these reminded her how headache-inducing Karen's life was.

"And what's this got to do with Allen?"

Karen pursued her lips. "I've found most of them in his lab. And in Detective West's desk."

"Someone is spying on him then." Mattie nodded to herself. "Then you know what you've got to do: stay far away from him and do not, I repeat—do not get involved. Again."

Karen's eyes darted. Mattie groaned.

"What did you do?"

Mattie watched as Karen took a huge gulp of her coffee (which was her trying to stall because she was very much aware of Karen's dislike for hot drinks). "I may or may not have picked up several hacking attacks on his computer."

"Karen, no. You have to stop. I know you got this weird Big Sister thing going on, but you don't need to take charge of this. Tell Singh about it, let him and the Powers That Be handle it. Anything C. C. P. D.-related stuff is their responsibility, not yours."

She looked at Karen's stubborn face long and hard. Her friend was pretty like this, dressed to the nines even though she was a mere receptionist. Had she not taken part in the creation of this persona, Mattie wouldn't have recognized her at all.

To be honest, she acknowledged this Karen Starr scared her the most. At least in her head. As the days went by, she found it hard to see the emotionally traumatized and vengeful girl her brother had stumbled into all those years ago. Oh, don't get her wrong—underneath the layers of clothes and makeup, she could spot the usual Karen. But to Mattie, it felt like the blonde was purposely finding ways to kill that girl underneath.

That was why it jarred Mattie so that Barry Allen, of all people, brought out a different side of Karen Mattie had not been completely privy to. Why him, when all he'd done was leave another hard-earned lesson in life? Why him, who was obsessed with the ideal of his first love and was blinded by it?

(Why not her?)

000•000

Before she left Midvale with David, Karen had been poor. Her first year in the orphanage was spent learning the appropriate etiquette to social interaction, and amidst those lessons money often came up in conversation.

The rich often get what they want. The rich have better houses. The rich have better jobs. The rich can go anywhere they want and when they want. Money talks and money can buy you happiness.

Of course, she hadn't understood most of it. And so, without prospects of the future, she had almost settled into a life with part-time jobs and school nights to get her high school diploma.

Karen still didn't understand at which point she managed to catch Bruce Wayne's attention.

How, when, why—the questions have, to this day, remained unanswered. But she did come to learn Bruce Wayne was an enigma: just as much as he was a playboy, he was a shrewd entrepreneur. He knew which buttons to push, which outrageous deals would benefit his company—and Karen, a literal no-one, happened to be another smart decision.

All she could do was feel grateful for that scholarship at Gotham University and do her best as both a student and an intern at Wayne Enterprises. And whether she liked it or not, the opportunity did create a fragile trust between them. And this matter? It worried her.

Enter one Lucius Fox, Wayne's second-hand. His extensive background on Wayne Enterprises' financial and Applied Sciences divisions earned him an early promotion as Wayne's financial advisor and his personal assistant—and he was the medium through which Karen got in contact with Bruce. But for this, she chose to trust Mr. Fox and mailed him the strange devices with the request to analyze them as soon as possible.

One could argue Karen just sat twiddling her thumbs while she waited. That wasn't the case.

A phone call later, she was racing to Barry Allen's lab, the phone still in her hand and her heels doing that click-click sound that heralded her arrival. But there was no one in the laboratory, and with a grimace (and a mental curse at Barry), she placed the phone on her ear and said to Joe West, "He isn't here."

"Really?" He didn't sound surprised. "Give him a call for me, will you? And tell him Captain Singh is none too happy about this." Then he spouted the direction Barry Allen was supposed to be at and ended the call.

She couldn't believe the gall of him. Her, call Barry Allen? Her? Wasn't she a she-devil—a spawn from hell who only brought Barry more trouble than what was worth and who needed to stay away from him(and wasn't it grand that she could recall Iris West's words to a T)?

Apparently, Joe forgot that he'd sided with his daughter on this. Or more like the whole thing between Karen and Barry hadn't happened.

The phone rang several times before Allen picked up.

"Hello?" he said hesitantly. And dare she say, breathless? "Karen? Is something wrong?"

"According to Detective West, it is. There's been an armed robbery and according to him, you are not there. Which, wow, I'm surprised," she ended sarcastically. She doodled on a napkin as Barry sighed.

"Right. Right, I'll be there. What's the address?"

She gave it, and just as she was hanging, there was a, "Wait!"

The familiar voice had Karen slamming down the phone. Iris West nearly knocked it over as she sprawled all over the counter, panting.

"Was that Barry? I wanted to remind him about the Simon Stagg event."

Karen smiled sharply, threading her fingers on her lap and tilting her head.

"I'm afraid you will have to wait until he returns... if he does, that is."

The rest of her day was a nightmare. She had to deal with the Mayor's response to the shooting at the Stagg Gala and then she had to edit David's own comment to that. After, it was the paperwork regarding Simon Stagg's statement because apparently, there were too many discrepancies for Joe West and Barry Allen. Too many holes. And after, she had to watch David run off with a team to West and Thawne's aid when Mr. Stagg found himself in the middle of another shooting in his own company.

It was Barry Allen's bad karma. It was the only logical explanation for all the weirdness going around. And the pattern was driving her to the point of madness; she was already slamming her head gently on the counter.

She hated not knowing. She hated not having all the important answers. But she... well, she wasn't sure why, but her instinct told her to back away. To look but not touch or else. And the else were the terrible consequences she'd been fearing for years.

On the next day, she was aware she was getting fatalistic.

Great. Now she knew she definitely needed a break. No one would blame her if she left for a few minutes... maybe a ten-minute break was for the best? It was night already and pulling double shifts was not something to blink at.

She left Kirsten to man up the desk and high-tailed it before David could see her. She went to the second floor, past Barry's lab—

A sound stopped her. The same accursed buzzing that has been haunting her all these months. And she knew exactly where it originated from.

Stay away from him, came Mattie's voice right then. Do not get involved.

It would be so easy to just... walk away. To not care. To leave Barry Allen to his own devices.

So Karen thought hard and fast:

He was my friend first. We broke up because we couldn't be that honest. He never let me down.

But he had. The one time she'd asked him something—the one time she'd been ready to tell him everything, to let him in on the secrets only Mattie and David knew—

He let you down.

But I never back away from a challenge. And whoever this stalker of Allen's was, they'd seriously pissed Karen Starr off.

She entered the CSI Lab. Maybe it was her traitorous heart, but the moment she saw Barry Allen silhouetted against the window and Central City's night lights, the buzzing faded to the background. It was still there but not as loud as before, swallowed by the memory of that night. The night the particle accelerator exploded and turned the city into its own purgatory.

Karen was aware of the click of her heels, of the cold that seeped into her skin. All normal responses to a sterilized environment. Inexplicably, her body betrayed her: at the same time she felt all this, she heard the rumbling of the lightning just before it struck Barry and felt the chill of rain as the glass broke and showered her. The phantom scratch of those pieces as they dug a little bit deeper into her skin.

And perhaps this was just her mind playing more tricks, but the closer she got to Barry, the more she felt that never-ending fever return, numbing her steps.

She looked at the clock on the wall. The sight of it allowed her mind and body to connect once more.

Seconds. That was all it took for Karen Starr to unravel. It was all the time she needed to gather herself once more.

Did she feel resentful that Barry had not noticed? A bit. But the feeling was washed away when she spotted the object of his attention—the corkboard that showcased his father's case.

Karen was tempted to leave then and there. It was one thing to avoid Barry because she didn't want to receive unwanted attention, it was another to abandon him to his own demons.

To speak or to not speak? To flee or not to?

Dammit.

"I thought you'd want that back in place."

Barry blinked slowly, as if he were waking up from a dream. "Hey. You—you what?"

"It got knocked down when the lightning struck you." She walked further into the room and gestured around with the pencil she'd accidentally brought. The movement was so sudden her cuff and wristwatch clanked together; with the sound distracting her, she almost poked her own eye out. "Everything was basically destroyed. I printed out the clips that got wet with chemicals and put them up again. I'm sorry if things are out of place—"

"No, no, it's okay." Barry glanced around; eyes squinted as he tried to remember which objects were out of place. "I didn't think... well, thanks." She could see the way his legs twitched forward, his eyes darting between her and the board.

Her own nervousness faded. She was close enough to simply lean over and grasp the chain of the city's map. She tugged, and the newspaper clips, handwritten notes, and the photographs of Henry and Nora Allen (Barry's parents) disappeared from view.

Barry had never told Karen about them. There'd never been enough time for them to share such intimate details. But she knew, just as every worker of the C.C.P.D. did, that Nora Allen was murdered and that Henry Allen was put in Iron Heights because of it.

(Karen also knew Barry had an ironclad belief that his father was innocent, that this had caused too much grief in his teenage years, that Joe West and he still got into heated discussions over it, that it fueled his staunch position in the side of the law—

—and that it was part of the reason why he got Ralph fired and she sent to a hospital room within a day.)

She was curious, but not merciless. She wasn't going to take his choice away now even if he felt the need to explain himself to her.

"All the shootings," said Barry suddenly. "These attacks on Simon Stagg—they were perpetuated by Danton Black, a former employee of his. Well, on paperwork, because Mr. Stagg didn't say anything about firing him. He had this amazing research on regeneration, groundbreaking even... but Stagg claimed it as his own. Black lost the grant... and he lost his wife because of it." He clapped his hands together in front of him, shoulders slumping.

Karen mirrored his position, looking at him though he was still staring at the Central City map. "He lost his wife?"

"She had a degenerative coronary disease. She was the center of Black's research. But Stagg took it all away."

"And Mr. Black wants his revenge." Karen nodded slowly. She had seen this many times happen, either in the station or soap operas. But for the life of her, she didn't get why Barry was so depressed when he'd technically witnessed worse scenarios.

She crossed her arms. "But that's not why you are moping." Barry's head snapped to her; she raised an eyebrow. "Does it have anything to do with Detective West brooding below us?"

"We... had a disagreement. I just—I could've done more in this case. I still can, but Joe doesn't want me! He's holding me back, telling me what I can do and what I can't like he's my father—!"

He'd started pacing before Karen like a caged lion as if the ability to stay still was impossible. A few more minutes and he would've done a hole on the floor, she figured.

"—he doesn't believe in me." He finally stopped, breathing harshly. As if the admission hurt him. "He never has." His eyes slid over to me. "You didn't either."

The pencil she'd been playing with snapped into a half. Making a face, she threw the pieces at his desk.

"That was out of line," said Karen. "Because you know as well as I do that I believed in you when no one else did. Me. Not your beloved Iris or Joe but me. I was right there with you when you started and everyone called you 'Baby Face' cause they didn't think you would amount to much. Dammit, Barry, I believed in you so much I didn't argue when you got Ralph kicked out of the force! And what happened after? No, don't you dare, look at me—what happened after?"

Bright lights. The flare of pain in her stomach, a burning sensation that didn't stop for days. The absence of Barry when she looked for him in the hospital halls, hoping he would tell her everything would be fine. It had been the most terrifying moment in her life and he hadn't been there, he'd been with Iris West instead of with his freaking girlfriend—

Her cuff clanged. It broke through the rage.

She sighed shakily, running a hand over her bangs and tucking them behind her ear.

"I'm sorry," Barry apologized, eyes glassy. "I didn't mean—I didn't mean to bring that up." He sighed. "I'm tired of arguing."

She couldn't help the snort. "Technically we haven't fought in nine months. Better here than in the middle of a crime scene... again."

Barry chuckled. "Yeah, Captain Singh was none too happy about that." He tucked his hands in his pockets and threw one leg over the other as he leaned against the desk once more. "I don't want to sound mean because we do need to have that conversation, but I don't think you or I are ready to talk."

"Yeah." Karen forced herself to relax and gestured at him. "So, Danton Black. You said you had a breakthrough in the case."

"No, no, no, don't go putting words in my mouth." A smile tugged at Barry's lips. "It's just..." He took a deep breath. "I'm gonna sound crazy... but I think something happened because of the particle accelerator explosion." His gaze was heavy on her, inscrutable. "What if I told you there are people out there with special abilities—let's call them Metahumans—and Danton Black is one of them."

Karen looked past him and tried out the new word. "Metahuman. Meta for 'beyond', 'transcending'. A human with capabilities beyond man." She pursued her lips. "Figures. Let's suppose then: what abilities would Danton Black have?"

He frowned at her. She frowned back.

"What, just like that?"

Karen rolled her eyes. "I'm from Gotham, remember? It's not farfetched. Ever since the particle accelerator exploded, there has been a spike in criminal activity. Even the local crime families don't want to stake in it. If super-powered people are involved, no wonder they don't want to step on their toes. Status quo is shifting and they don't know how to make heads or tails of it."

"I know, the Falcones left."

"Good riddance for that, but what about the rest? Will the public panic when kids start floating? What about the ones like Danton Black or... Clyde Mardon." Karen threw her arms in the air. "Ugh, that's why Detective West wanted to close the case, isn't it? Rao, we're gonna end up like Starling at this rate."

"And there's no one to stop them," said Barry with a tinge of defeat.

Karen side-eyed him. "If that was what your argument with West was about, I'm afraid I agree with him, Barry. These people would need someone who is more than a match. Someone with the right tools, even a team."

(Cruel eyes staring her down.

Why?

To fight the battles we cannot. To defend the United States of America and show the world who is in charge—)

Barry had an odd look on his face.

"Like another meta?"

Karen thought about it. "Maybe. Don't forget I said team, too. These people not only need to be stopped—they need help. Professional help. Psychological help. Imagine waking up, only to find that your life has irrevocably changed and that nothing will ever the same. The ones that aren't like Mardon, they must be very scared and scared people—"

"—make stupid decisions," Barry finished. He was now leaning forward, his hands on his knees. "I'm familiar with that."

A phone rang. Barry almost jumped from how fast he answered. To Karen's surprise, he was scowling.

"Look, I told you. I'm through."

She didn't mean to listen. She really didn't. But the voice on the other end was sharp and Karen couldn't help but zone on it.

"I know, but you need to get to S.T.A.R. Labs right now!"

A sharp ring deafened Karen. She clasped her hand to her ear with a grimace and almost didn't catch what Barry said as he backed out of the lab.

"Look, I'm sorry, I wouldn't be leaving like this if it wasn't an emergency, but I gotta go. It was really nice talking again, we should do it over coffee another day!"

And then he was gone, leaving Karen alone with the accursed buzzing.

Hand still covering her ear, she scrutinized the lab. She stepped toward the desk—nothing; she went behind the shelves—the noise faded.

Her head snapped up towards the entrance. She narrowed her eyes.

There. At the top of the door, there was a faint blue light, a dot that might as well have been painted amidst the grimy walls. Why did it have to be so high?

Karen looked around. Then, she seized Barry's ladder and leaned it against the wall. Taking off her heels at the bottom, she began to climb, one arm holding on the ladder, the other stretching to grab the offending surveillance camera.

It was identical to the others she'd found but active. This one blinked—no doubt sending live footage to its owner.

She looked straight into the camera and spoke.

"Hello, perfect stranger. I'm the one who's been hunting down your surveillance feeds. I don't care about your intentions—in fact, I'm willing to ignore the numerous times you have hacked the servers—but if you so much as throw this station out of order, I will hunt you down and take you out. You are just a click away from me."

Karen closed her fist and crushed the device. The buzzing cut short.

We finally get a longer interaction between Barry and Karen! And slight spoiler: we've got a special guest appearing next chapter. Can you guess who it is based on the ending? It isn't our favorite villain.