"Wally! Time for dinner!" Mom called from downstairs.
I scowled at my reflection in the mirror, then glanced toward the window where rain pattered against the glass, drenching the city that had become my home.
It's been a month since I transmigrated into Wally West's body, and surprisingly, things have been pretty uneventful. You'd think getting thrown into the life of the fastest man alive would be... well, a bit more exciting. But here's the kicker: I'm not the Flash. Not even close. I don't have powers at all. Oh, and I'm not a man either—just like in my old life, I'm still 16.
I headed out of my small room, walked down the hallway, and descended the wooden staircase into the dining area near the kitchen. Our house wasn't particularly big, but it did its job. I was greeted by my mother's neutral expression; she gestured for me to sit down while she prepared the food. She wasn't smiling at me today, which meant I had to be prepared.
A few minutes later, as I dug into the rice and stew my mom had made, my dad came downstairs. He was a man in his 40s, probably 6'3" and built like the former factory worker he used to be. Even now, working as a pencil pusher at Star Labs, he still made me look like a dwarf next to him. He took a seat at the other side of the table and quietly ate the food that Mom served him. Then everything changed the moment he took a bite.
"Mary, how many times do I need to tell you I don't like fish stew?" Dad's voice cut through the air, his irritation evident as he shot Mom a slight glare.
Mom flinched at his tone, her hands pausing mid-motion as she stirred the pot. "I thought you'd like this one Rudy. I made it with your favorite spices," she replied, trying to keep her voice calm.
But Dad wasn't having it. "I said I don't want fish stew, Mary! Why can't you listen for once?" His voice grew louder, the frustration bubbling to the surface.
I watched in disbelief as Dad's face reddened. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. It was as if he was a coiled spring, ready to snap.
"Just stop it, okay? It's just dinner!" Mom's voice trembled slightly, but she held her ground.
"Dinner? Dinner? You never listen to me! You act like you know what I want!" He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the dishes and causing the rice to spill. My heart raced as I felt the tension in the room spike. I had to do something.
In a sudden burst of anger, he reached across the table, his hand connecting sharply against Mom's cheek. The sound of the slap echoed in the small dining area, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.
Mom's head turned slightly, shock etched on her face as she brought a hand to her cheek. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held them back, refusing to let them fall. I could see the pain in her expression, and it made my stomach churn. I was supposed to have prepared for something like this but I froze up again like an idiot.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled, rising from my chair, fury surging through me. "You don't get to treat her like that!"
Dad turned to me, his glare still directed at Mom, then shifted to me with the same intensity. "She's my wife! I get to treat her however I want!" He stood up from his chair, towering over the table, anger radiating off him like heat from a flame. Mum looked between was in fear.
"Not like that!" I shot back, adrenaline surging through me. "You're better than this!"
He paused for a moment, his expression wavering between anger and something that looked like doubt. Then he swung his fist and punched me square in the face.
In my old life, I was a simple guy. I never wanted violence. I was built like my current dad, and I never wanted to hurt anyone—actually, that was a lie. I wanted to punch people until their faces were bloody messes. I wanted to backhand them so hard that their jaws would snap. But I understood that this was wrong, and I held back those violent thoughts.
Right now, though, all I wanted was to hurt my dad. I wouldn't let abuse happen in another life. Not again. Fueled by a mix of rage and defiance, I launched myself at him immediately after recovering from the punch.
It didn't do much.
I barely had time to brace myself before Dad's next punch landed, hitting me square in the stomach. The air was forced from my lungs as I doubled over in pain. Before I could even catch my breath, he grabbed me by the collar and slammed me against the wall, rattling the picture frames nearby.
"You don't know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?" he growled, his breath hot against my face. His fist came down again, this time smashing into my ribs. I gasped, the sharp sting of pain spreading through my body.
I tried to fight back, but my limbs felt like lead. I was no fighter—I never had been, even in my old life with all those violent thoughts I had never been in a real fight, my new body wasn't as naturally strong. My fists swung wildly, hitting nothing but air, while his hits were deliberate, forceful, each one more brutal than the last.
Another punch landed on my jaw, snapping my head to the side. I tasted blood in my mouth. My vision blurred, and for a moment, I thought I might black out, but the rage inside me burned too hot. I tried to lunge at him again, but my body was slow, sluggish.
He easily caught me, twisting my arm behind my back with a slight crack. I screamed in pain, but it only seemed to fuel his anger.
"You think you're tough, huh? You think you can tell me how to run my house?" His voice was cold, his eyes dark and furious. He shoved me to the ground, kicking me in the side as I curled into a ball. Pain radiated from every part of my body, and all I could do was cover my head and hope it would stop.
Another kick hit my ribs, and I heard something crack. I couldn't breathe—each gasp for air felt like knives stabbing into my chest. I wanted to cry out, but the words wouldn't come. The pain was too much.
"Rudy, stop it!" Mom's voice broke through the chaos, but Dad didn't stop. He kicked me again, this time in the back, and I cried out, my voice ragged with pain.
"Rudy, please!" Mom was crying now, her voice desperate. "He's just a boy! Please, stop!"
Dad paused, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. He stood over me, fists still clenched, as if he was debating whether to hit me again.
I could barely lift my head to look at him. Blood dripped from my lip, my body shaking with pain. Every breath felt like fire. I knew I couldn't take much more.
Mom was on her knees now, clutching at Dad's arm, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Rudy… stop. Please…"
For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of the rain pattering against the windows and my ragged breathing. Dad's fists slowly unclenched, and he took a step back, his face still contorted in anger but softened by the sight of Mom sobbing at his feet.
He looked down at me, his eyes dark with something I couldn't quite read—guilt, maybe, or frustration. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the room and then upstairs, leaving me broken on the floor.
Mom rushed to my side, gently cradling my head in her hands. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling as she wiped the blood from my face. Tears fell from her cheeks, mixing with the rain still hitting the window. "I'm so, so sorry…"
But her words didn't matter. The damage was already done.
By the time I managed to get up, Mom had already run upstairs, presumably to talk to Dad. I tried to stop her, but my body hurt too much to even take a step. I sank back down, every part of me aching.
I honestly didn't know what to do. This wasn't the first time I had dealt with abuse. It had happened to me in my past life too, but back then, everyone in my country called it "discipline" and never took it seriously. No one ever cared to listen.
Now, even in a country that actually took abuse seriously, I still didn't know who to talk to. Mom kept begging me not to tell Uncle Barry, pleading with me to keep it between us. But after today, I'd made up my mind. Once he was done with whatever mission he had in Metropolis, I was going to tell him everything.
I headed to the living room, my body aching with every step, and collapsed onto the couch. Reaching for the TV remote, I turned it on, hoping to distract myself from the pain. Maybe a show, something mindless, would help me forget for a few minutes.
But the moment the screen lit up, everything stopped. My entire life shattered in an instant.
There she was—Aunt Iris, Barry's wife—on the screen, her face streaked with tears, trying to hold herself together as she stood in front of the camera. Her voice trembled, the words barely making it past her lips.
"We bring you breaking news from Metropolis," she started, choking on her words. "The newly formed Justice League has successfully defeated Brainiac... but..."
She paused, struggling, her eyes glistening with tears that refused to stop. My heart began to race, a knot forming in my stomach. "But... the Flash... didn't make it."
Iris's sobs broke through. She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the grief that overwhelmed her. "He... he died... saving us all. He's gone. It's over."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Barry... Uncle Barry... dead? I couldn't breathe. The room spun around me, my hands shaking as I dropped the remote.
It couldn't be true. Not him. Not the Flash. But there she was—my Aunt Iris—telling the world that the man I had just decided to turn to for help was gone. He was dead.
I sat frozen, numb, as the news kept replaying over and over in my head. *The Flash. Dead.*
Everything had just... fallen apart.