R O X X O N I V Y B R A N C H H Q - S E V E R A L W E E K S A G O

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^{Midday | Cornell County, Ivy Town, Connecticut}

Clayton Burr was an ordinary man with an ordinary life. He met a girl in college and fell in love. Married that girl and found himself a nice house in the suburbs. They'd only been married a year by the time their first son was born. William, a feisty little warrior- reminded Clayton of his own younger brother growing up. The handful that he was, Clayton loved him with all of his heart, and he'd do anything for that boy.

Even stomach working for his father.

Clayton Burr Senior was a company man. Spent his whole life working for the Roxxon Energy Corporation, fighting his way to being the head of the Ivy Branch Headquarters. He didn't care about much in his life. Never much cared for his family, even the ones he'd brought into the world. Didn't much care for his friends, either. But he did love his job- and the piles and piles of cash it brought him. Ruthless, cold and greedy. Clay despised the man, but he needed the job; he needed to leave enough behind when he died so that his own son could be happy and comfortable. So he became a company man, too. For the good of little Will.

He'd worked at Roxxon for fifteen years, and now he had his own office all to himself. Wasn't much to look at. Organized, clean, and bare, save for a single framed photo of everything he cared about. Wasn't much, but it was his. And it was a great deal better than the cubicle he used to work out of. He especially liked how they'd soundproofed the walls so he could work in peace and quiet.

Well. He usually liked it, anyway.

A man had come to visit him during his lunch break. A grim-looking fellow, with gaunt features and sun-kissed skin. Clay could see that age had gotten to him from the laugh lines 'round his eyes and the slightest of wrinkles dotted on his cheeks. No gray in his dark locks yet, though there was no telling how much time he had until then. Handsome, if it weren't for that permanent frown of his.

The stranger had questions for Burr. Questions he couldn't answer. Uncomfortable ones. Ones his bosses had tried to sweep under the rug. No company had clean hands, Clay had learned that a long time ago. But Roxxon's were particularly dirty. He tried to ignore it best he could. Tried to do the straight work and look the other way whenever he could. 'Course, being the son of the executive officer made it hard to blend into a crowd. Burr was an accountant. He dealt in numbers. Numbers that didn't always add up.

Somehow the stranger knew that. And he wanted to know more- but Clay didn't know more. He'd already said everything he could.

So why was he still hurting him?

"I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING!" Burr screamed. He bucked in his chair and flailed his body like a man possessed, desperately fighting against the bent metal wristbands that kept him pinned in place. His face was drenched in sweat, mingling with the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks. The agony was unbearable. It felt like worms had crawled into his veins and started exploring his insides. Every movement brought another whimper from the businessman. "Make it stop! P-please! I'll do wh...whatever you want!"

The stranger sat on the desk in front of him, that same, grim look on his face. "I don't like liars, Mr. Burr." He spoke in a soft voice, touched by an accent Clay didn't recognize. It was thick and beautiful, giving a sharpness to every word the stranger spoke. "You send eight times the oil to South Africa than what actually arrives in their ports. Where does the rest of the shipment go?"

"I told you-" Burr panted. "Their books are the same as ours-"

"I'm sure they are." He interrupted with a click of his tongue. "Books are easy to change. But I've been on those docks, Mr. Burr, I worked in that port and I know those containers weren't there. So I'm going to ask you one last time: where does the rest of the shipment go?"

"I don't kn-" Before he could even finish the stranger had made a flourishing movement with his hand, and the pain had come back with a vengeance. He could feel those things racing through his body, tearing apart the insides of his arms as they moved further inside. He could barely move them anymore. There was no telling what would happen if they reached his torso. "I just- I just handle the books, I swear! I-I write down what they tell me to, I never ask questions, I'm not supposed to know. I sw..swear, I swear I don't."

"Then who does?"

"What?" Burr blinked.

"I need a name." The stranger breathed. He brought his hand upward, palm facing toward Burr. Even the slightest twitch of his fingers made the worms start moving again. Clay had no idea what would happen if he closed his whole fist.

"Wait, wait!" Burr demanded. "My...My father, Clayton Senior. He runs this place. He knows e-everything that happens here. If- if anybody knows, it'd be him. Please, that's all I know, I swear. Don't- don't kill me." He whimpered.

With a flick of his wrist, the stranger pulled the liquid metal out of Burr's body. It exploded from his flesh in a thousand tiny pieces, leaving behind a smattering of red, bloody dots all across Clay's arms. He screamed, but nobody could hear him. "PLEASE!" He pleaded. "I have a family- a son! They need-"

"So did I." His captor whispered. Then he balled his hand into a fist, and the metal in the air tore through Burr's heart like shotgun pellets.

T H E X - M A N S I O N - E A R L I E R T H A T D A Y

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^{8:00 a.m. | Salem Center, Westchester County, New York}

Charles Xavier always felt a sense of satisfaction at the sound of chalk moving across a blackboard. Every stroke invigorated him like a shot of dopamine, and he found himself turning away from the board with a content grin on his aging face. "Genosha," the professor stated, tapping the name he'd just writt en in large, bold letters. "Does anyone know who first founded it?"

His question road like a wave across the makeshift classroom, which was little more than a sitting room with the chairs all turned to face forwards and a blackboard rolled in front of it all. Bobby Drake had made sure to occupy the furthest seat from the board, the hood of his jacket drawn down juuust far enough to hide his eyes as he tried to catch up on missing sleep. Movie night with Kurt had run a couple of hours too late. How was Drake supposed to know the marathon lasted that long? He regretted not checking the clock or something, 'cause being reminded by the sun coming up hadn't been very fun.

Kurt, to his credit, hadn't quite passed out yet. His head was resting in his palm, his three fingers running through the blueish fur on his cheek. His eyelids kept trying to clamp shut every few minutes, only for Wagner to lurch awake in a violent and distracting display that would keep him lucid for a couple of minutes before it all repeated again. If he ever tried to answer any questions it came out in unintelligible German.

Two pencils went soaring through the air like a pair of shurikens, one striking Kurt in the forehead and the second bouncing off of Bobby's nose. Both boys were thrown wide awake by the sudden attack, with Bobby nearly leaping out of his chair in surprise and Kurt vanishing and reappearing right back in his seat in a puff of black smoke. They shared a confused glance with one another seconds before realizing where the attack had come from, their heads turning simultaneously to glare in the direction of Scott Summers.

Scott crinkled his nose incredulously at them- even with his eyes hidden behind his crimson visor it wasn't hard to tell he was glaring. Sweat glistened off of the young man's forehead, still clinging to him after his long and exhaustive morning run. After making sure the two troublemakers were thoroughly and silently accosted for sleeping through the lesson he returned to looking in Xavier's direction, unable to muster an answer to the question. This was the first time they'd broached the subject of Genosha, and Scott wasn't too confident he'd be able to even point it out on a map.

The Professor pursed his lips, his eyes slipping between the three of his students as he seemed to contemplate how to deal with the brief interruption. The look lingered on Scott, giving the team's leader his own look of quiet admonishment before Xavier shifted his attention fully back to the lesson at hand. "Anyone?" Charles asked with a raised brow, "Hank?"

It wasn't until he heard his name that Hank McCoy even seemed to notice there was something going on around him. His pencil was rapidly shortening as he ran the tip of the graphite against his notebook full of crazy ideas and half-finished schematics. The current drawing before him was a series of functional upgrades to the team's costumes. Their current suits, aside from being a little tacky, didn't have any kind of temperature control, built-in communications, armor or other crucial parts to any superhero uniform. Hank blinked, pushing his nose up his glasses as he looked up to the Professor and then at the blackboard. "I'm sorry, uh, could you repeat the question?"

"He asked who founded Genosha," Jean Grey cut in before Charles got a chance, speaking in a very matter-of-fact tone as she looked down at her notes, "and you're gonna say the British first declared the colony in 1901, but there was actually activity from various colonial powers going as far back as the 16th century. And..." She stuck her tongue into her cheek, her brows furrowing a little. "Something about making the suits out of a carbon fiber mesh?" Jean leaned over from her seat and attempted to get a look at whatever it was Hank had been doodling on his notebook. "-Are you making us new costumes?" She asked curiously.

"Hey!" Hank practically tore the book off his lap and slapped it up against his sprawling chest. "No mind reading!" He huffed, clearly caught off guard at having his thoughts so casually spoken aloud for everyone to hear.

Bobby was out of his seat and leaning over the back of McCoy's chair as quick as the word 'costumes' had left Jean's mouth. He grabbed both of Hank's shoulders and attempted to drag himself up high enough to see the notebook in his big friend's hands. "We're getting new costumes?!" He inquired with an energetic excitement that had seemingly spawned from thin air. Kurt shared his enthusiasm, popping up on Hank's opposite shoulder in a puff of dark smoke and trying to leer down at the page. Hank didn't take well to the intrusion, trying to buck the duo off and keep the sketches hidden against his chest at the same time.

Jean's face grew beet red the instant she realized what she had done. "I- I didn't- I mean, it wasn't on purpose-" She stumbled and stuttered, retreating behind her red locks as she bent her head low in shame at her actions. Reading minds came to her as easily as actual hearing did. It was hard for her to decipher what were thoughts and what were words, and sometimes it all got so jumbled that she got her own thoughts mixed up with someone else's. "I'm sorry." She muttered.

Hank, still busy wrestling Bobby and Kurt into submission, paused long enough to listen and reply. "It's okay." He assured her. "I'm not- hey!" He started, only to be interrupted by Kurt slipping underneath one of his arms and getting a hold of the notebook.

Nightcrawler slipped right away from the beast of a man's grip, vanishing out of the classroom and appearing in the hallway. He held the picture up in the light, a bright grin spreading across his face. "I look awesome!" He laughed.

"Lemme see!" Drake whined, jumping over chairs and racing over to catch up to Wagner. "When do I get to wear mine?!"

Hank, hot on Bobby's heels and having completely forgotten what he was going to say to Jean, was quick to shout after them. "It's just a drawing! We aren't even in the prototype phase!"

The lesson thoroughly disrupted and Jean left in her silent shame, Charles let out a quiet sigh. Kids, he thought with a shake of his head. No matter what kind of amazing gifts they might have, it was hard to forget that these five were still all children at heart. He placed the chalk back down on the tray and moved his hands onto the wheels of his chair, planning to go to miss Grey, as he had many times before. But he paused, not all that surprised to see that Summers had already moved to her side. He had a hand around her shoulder and he was trying to say something that might've been vaguely wise had the boy any idea how to say it. It brought a smile to Charles's face.

"Come on back, my students, there'll be plenty of time for that later! Our lesson's only just begun." Xavier called out to the wrestling trio in the hallway. They all seemed to look at each other and hold and a wordless conversation for a few seconds before deciding to call a ceasefire and return back to their seats. They spent a little while putting everything back where it was before and getting themselves seated, but their attention was eventually given back to the professor. Even if they bickered, fought or messed up in some fashion, they always seemed to land back on their feet. Always seemed to orientate themselves to point north again, even if it did take a bit of time. Charles let his hands come to rest on his lap as he waited a moment, making sure everyone was ready before he continued. "So, as Jean said, Genosha was founded in..."

B A Y V I L L E H I G H S C H O O L - P R E S E N T

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^{6th hour - 1:24 PM | Bayville County, New York City, New York}

Winter was over and life was returning to Bayville. It'd been a cold and harsh winter with plenty of snow and a near constantly overcast sky. But it was over. The people shed their coats and the trees were green again. Birds were singing, children laughing, and the sun was peaking through the clouds, vibrant and warm. It would've made Lance happy if returning to school wasn't part of the deal.

He felt everyone's eyes on him the moment he got into the bus. Never saw them look, but he knew they were- he could feel their stares burning through the back of his Howling Commandos' t-shirt. It was a strange and disturbing sensation, knowing what they were whispering about when they thought he wasn't listening. He liked it so much better when nobody knew he existed.

Lance kept his eyes down and his face hidden behind his long locks. 'Keep your head down.' He ordered himself. Maybe they'd forget after a few hours. Go back to being stupid teenagers.

First hour passed and nobody had stopped looking. They kept whispering. Nobody liked Ms. Harrington's english class. It was boring. Nothing better for them to think about, he guessed. Maybe it'd be better next hour.

Physics. The hardest class of the day. Lance couldn't make head or tails of anything in that textbook, and the teacher wasn't much help. Maybe if he hadn't missed so many days he'd understand half of that bullshit. He was sure everyone else struggled as much as he did. They should'a been paying attention. But they wouldn't stop staring.

Third hour was Spanish. Another boring class. Mr. Rodriguez was ass at teaching, but at least he gave everybody good grades. They were all whispering now. Everybody had heard. Lance had only been there three hours but every single one of them was looking at him now. His face was red and hot. He wished he could just bury his head in the sand and never have to pull it back out.

Fourth hour was the same. Then lunch came. No more whispering. Now they were just talking. Didn't seem to care that he heard any of them. A few of them were even pointing at him. Lance took his lunch outside and ate behind the benches by the Football field. Nobody came back there. It was nice to have some time to himself.

Study hall was right after, so he had even more time to get away from it all. He checked in with the teach and told her he was headed to the library before he walked out the front door. Didn't have time to get far, but he found himself a nice, secluded plot of land a good ways from any of the school's buildings. Lance made sure there were plenty of trees between him and any prying eyes before he plopped down on the grass and let out a heavy, tired sigh.

"Finally," Lance muttered, his eyes snapping shut. He took in a deep, long breath before letting it out just as slowly. He did this six times, each just as long as the last. Careful. Measured. Calm. It took a great deal of concentration to reach out with his mind and feel the earth beneath his feet. Not the grass, or the dirt, but the earth. The stones buried deep. The foundation of everything they strode upon. Nobody ever gave a second thought to the ground. It was just...there. It'd always been there. Dirt to walk on. Stone to hold that up. Nobody really questioned it. Nobody gave it any thought. Not until something went wrong with it. Not until it broke and made a mess of things. That was the only time anyone ever cared- was when it's pain got in their way.

A stone laying at his feet began to shake. He reached out to it, though his hands remained on his knees, and lifted it into the air. He could feel it hovering just a few inches from his face, suspended in the air by his will alone. It gave him an incredible rush every time he did it. Better than any drug he'd ever tried. He let a hand slip from his leg and fall down into the grass, reaching deeper into the ground. It purred and hummed at his touch, welcoming, inviting, obedient. He had heard its hardships. He was the only one that listened to it. He was its friend.

"I been lookin' for you all day, Lance!" Someone called from behind him. The stone dropped to the ground as Lance scampered to get up to his feet. He hadn't so much as turned around before he felt a hand wrap around the collar of his shirt and drag him up the rest of the way.

"Or should I call you mutie now?" The teenager that pulled Lance to his feet snarled, spittle flying from his ugly teeth into the other boy's face. Ryan Griffan- or Griff, as he liked to call himself- was a lifeless douchebag that spent his days picking on the kids that were somehow even less popular than he was. Everybody knew he was an asshole, but nobody ever bothered to get in his way. He was too big for that. Big and stupid and willing to bust your teeth in for even looking at him sideways.

Lance turned his eyes toward his feet, refusing to look Griff in the face. "Don't call me that." He muttered.

"N' why not, mutie?" Griff chuckled, tossing Lance back. He managed to catch himself in a stumble rather than falling right onto his back, but he landed in an awkward stance on his thin and unimpressive frame. He was several inches shorter than Griff, and there was no telling how much lighter. It wouldn't be a fair fight.

"I'm no mutant. Don't matter what they say." He muttered, eyes on the dirt and his chin tucked into chest.

Griff just shook his head. "Naw...Sal's a lotta things but she ain't no liar. Not like you, mutie. You...you're a liar." He laughed again. An ugly, spiteful laugh. Like a Hyena. "And she told evveeryyboodyy, freak, you know that? Whole school's heard about you."

"I know." Lance whispered under his breath. "They won't stop fucking staring."

Griff slipped closer. Two of his dipshit friends stepped out of the treeline. Hovering far enough back that Griff had space to work but close enough that they could pounce if Lance so much as blinked wrong. He'd been on the wrong side of this equation before, but...He knew it'd be different this time.

"What'd you think was gonna happen when you told her?" Griff spoke in a quiet drawl, lowering his mouth toward Lance's ear. "You think she was gonna like you 'cuz you could wiggle your fingers n' make a couple'a rocks float? You think people were gonna start givin' a shit about you 'cuz you're a mutie now?"

"Go away, Griff," Lance muttered, his throat dry and his hands shaking.

"What was that, mutie? Speak up."

"I told you to leave me alone." Lance snarled, turning his eyes up to meet Griff's gaze. The two stared at one another, eyes sharp as spears. They held for precisely three seconds before Griff started to move and the next thing Lance knew he was on his back and blood was running down his face from his nose.

Pain.

It felt his pain.

Like he'd felt it's pain.

"I wanna see it, mutie." Griff declared, hands resting on his hips in a triumphant, arrogant display. He stood over Lance, not even bothering to look at him as he demanded things of the fallen boy. "I wanna see these oh-so-impressive powers you lot are s'posed to have. I mean, I hear about your people hurtin' normal people on the news all the time. So's you've gotta be pretty strong, right? You supposed to be some kinda monster."

Lance rolled over onto his stomach, grass in his teeth. "You wanna see it, huh?"

"Oh yeah, I do. Show me, mutie. Show me." Griff taunted, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. His little friends in the back were whooping and hollering like the morons they were. They thought they'd get to see Griff beat up on a freak. Maybe Griff would even let them in on the fun if they were good enough. They sounded so very excited.

Then the ground began to shift.

Diana Prince came awake in the dark and nearly got out of her bed as if she was already in a battle. Then, she realized that she was sleeping in a luxurious hotel room instead of the battlefield. Her dreams felt so real as if she was reliving those moments. But, it became difficult to tell which war she dreamt about. Each of the wars that Diana fought in were almost identical besides its locations and reasons why it began. All of them caused so much suffering and loss regardless of justified cause. She could have listened to her husband and lived a peaceful life after fighting in both world wars.

But, the world needed Wonder Woman.

And for seventy-four years, she started a new battle against the development of nuclear weaponry and the rising military-industrial complex. With help from her husband and the squad, the World Veterans Federation was founded with the goals of promoting world peace and protecting veterans. But it still wasn't enough. The greatest superpowers of the world during the Cold War nearly destroyed the world a few times. She wanted to do something before man did something incredibly stupid like nuking the entire world. However, her husband wanted to live his remaining years in peace and quiet with the woman she loved. So, she did.

Diana's train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Diana, are you awake?" a familiar voice was heard on the other side.

She got out of her bed and went over to the wardrobe room in order to change into her dress. Today was the day where she planned on giving a speech at the twenty-ninth general assembly of the WVF. Once she was done with the dress, she told the person to come on in while she walked to the bathroom to do clear up a little. Etta Candy, Diana's personal security, walked into the room with a little grin on her face. Despite being the cold hearted badass of the group, she loved to travel around the world principally Paris. "Are you ready for the debrief, madam?" Candy asked Diana while scanning the bedroom.

"Everyone's already here?" Diana asked confusedly while she was picking out the earrings.

"Of course, madam. It is an important day after all." Etta answered with a smile on her face before she straighten up when Diana came out. She looked beautiful as always, she thought with her eyes looking at the dress. She responded with a cough and said, "It looks good on you."

Before Diana could thank her security chief, she saw that her secretary had been staying there with her arms crossed and a grin on her face. Alana Dominguez was pretty damn good at her job given she was made responsible for most of the administrative work and decisions. Dominguez had served in the US military before going to school and getting her associate's degree a few years ago. Diana saw potential and hired her to be the new secretary. "Told you that dress looked perfect on you." Dominguez remarked.

"Well, good thing that I listened to you." Diana gave her a light-hearted smile before walking out of the room with Candy and Dominguez following behind. She knew that it was the same procedure year after year with a few minor changes here and there. Until she found that her chief legal officer, Rachel Keast, had the entire conference room to herself. Without any warning, Diana dismissed both Dominguez and Candy before walking into the room. She knew that something serious was going to happen if Keast was in Paris instead of the United States. "It will be only a few." Diana gave a forced smile before closing the door on them.

Then, she turned and looked at Keast trying to find the right words to say.

"Keast, how was Washington?"

"I am afraid that the rumors are true. The United States are looking into forming a committee on you and your activities. Everything you have ever done and said will be under a microscope. Then, they will decide what the best course will be. I am truly sorry, Diana." Keast said bluntly towards Diana while looking at her eyes with a serious expression. She had been looking rumors that the United States were planning something like this ever since the rise of superheroes. "People are scared right now and what they need is-"

"A scapegoat." Diana finished the sentence. She was clearly disappointed with the news after all she did for man and they repaid her by doing this. "How long do we have until they want my presence?"

"It could be weeks or months before it's requested. But, an announcement of the committee's formation will happen on Friday. And they will start work on the following Monday. Other than that, we are in the dark." Keast answered the question and got up from her seat to comfort Diana. She wanted the rumors to be false so that Wonder Woman didn't have to deal with this attempt to deface her name. Everything that she had ever done could be ruined depending on the outcome. Even WVF was at risk.

Keast placed a hand on Diana's shoulder and insisted, "My legal team and I will defend your name against the committee."

"Thank you." Diana smiled but still had doubts about a good outcome of the committee.

"My name is Barry Allen, and I'm the fastest man alive. When I was a child, I saw my mother killed by something impossible. Then an accident made me the impossible. To the outside world, I'm just an ordinary forensic scientist, but secretly I use my speed to fight crime and find others like me, and one day, I'll get the man who killed my mother, I'll get justice for my friends, my father and for Iris. I am the Flash."

Lighting struck the ground outside of the suburbs of Central City, The Streaks as the suburb was called, less than a mile off a very peculiar house in the story of our hero. The house where all of this had begun a number of years ago that to him was impossible to know. It was where all of this started, really. Even if he was but a boy then, it was the defining moment in his life. Being this close to that place made his body surge with new power, new purpose. His body that moments ago - in a different time - had felt like it was losing it's power had now become reinvigorated. He was running. God, he was always running. But he was never alone, not anymore. Before, he would've had friends, loved ones, or her by his side, but now, he had the devil on his heels. The same lightning bolt that had struck the ground struck the same place again and behind him he appeared. His dark passenger, his reflection. His shadow.

His Reverse, The man in Yellow came out gritting his teeth, his eyes glowing sharply red as he grappling for the hero. He was narrowly dodged and then counter attacked, a swing towards his yellow-clad face, as their blurry arms collided, lightning rang all around them and what had a second ago been a small storm was now quickly growing into a massive hurricane. Nature knew full well that these weren't simply two men fighting. It wasn't a squabble, and it wasn't even a rivalry anymore. It wasn't a feud between two sprinters, a tug of war between opposites.

It was a battle between titans, a war between two forces of nature. An effort to put an end to the unanswerable question - what if two unstoppable objects collide. They traded blow after blow, moving in circles and every time they did, lightning struck them and another pair of them appeared. They didn't say anything to each other, but they both knew it.

This was the end. It ends tonight. Soon, they had occupied the entire field they were one, a red and a yellow blur moving faster than anyone in the world could comprehend, unleashing enough power that if it wasn't absorbed by the other could've caused catastrophic damage to the surroundings. A kick, a lightning spear was thrown, a velocity barrier was made, they phased at different frequencies, moving through one another, they pulled out all of their stops here and now, using every little bit of all of their might. Finally, The Flash saw an opportunity. A lightning bolt to the Man in Yellow's that he could not parry, he took a few meter's leverage to gain enough speed to hit him with enough energy to end this once and for all. But as his fist was about to collide with the paler man's face, it was over.

All the battles on the field stopped then, as if the entire world stopped.

His hand was shaking, trembling. They were moving at all but normal speed all of a sudden, consumed by what was happening. In the middle of the army of Yellow and Red fighting, there were the pair of them. Flash's fist colliding with Zoom's face, yet, Zoom's hand vibrating through Flash's heart.

"I win."

"You will never win, Thawne." He said with a pained grin, as the red duplicated began exploding into bright glow, absorbed back into the speedforce. Thawne pulled off Barry's cowl, and then took off his, revealing his graying blond hair, matching Barry's full head of gray. He leaned over to Barry, letting him rest one arm over his shoulder, as he leaned in closer. "I win, Flash. I beat you." As he pulled his hand out of Barry's chest leaving a gaping hole as he had vibrated the organs into dust. Barry fell to the ground, his blood splattering all over Thawne's yellow suit.

The Reverse Flash pulled up his cowl again and began laughing, hysterically and manically. He had finally won. He had finally showed that idiot Barry Allen that he was the fastest. He had taken everything that was important to Barry, and now, he had even taken his life.

Gideon's voice spoke softly in his ear.

"Thawne, sir. The timeline's becoming unstable. Your defeat over Mr. Allen must have shaken the speedforce. This timeline is becoming highly volatile, I am detecting anachronisms all over time. Get out of there."

"I'll go wait it out in the negative speedforce. This timeline can go to hell." Thawne said with a smile, as he began running, seemingly a lot slower than he was used to. "Gideon, I am.. Slow." His voice couldn't hide the euphoria he felt, still, but his pragmatism stopped him from celebrating. He was powerful, but even he couldn't survive time collapsing on itself.

"It would seem that your body's connection to the speedforce has been severely damage from your battle. You are essentially out of fuel. You need a recharge of dark matter, Professor. Thawne" The female voice informed him and Thawne smirked, seeing the particle accelerator in the distance exploding.

"I know just the place."

Speeding into the CCPD's loft, the forensics lab, he saw a young Barry Allen climbing onto a shelf to grab some chemicals. Thawne non-nonchalantly pushed him off the ledge with the remainder of his speed - taking Barry's exact place as the lightning bolt came through the window, surging through him. The young Barry Allen was thrown onto the ground, knocked out cold. Thawne had a smug smile on his lips as he glanced over at the young would-be Flash. "Your time's up, kid."

He headed back outside - into a Central City in chaos. Thawne never got tired of seeing all of the mayhem this night caused, no matter how many times he had to see it. He still felt slow, but not as slow as before. The timeline was still deteriorating, and certain objects were melting away. A lamppost, a fire hydrant, cars, even some people were being turned into nothingness. He felt it closing in on him.

"That's my cue to leave." He sprinted as fast as he could, breaking into the barrier of the speedforce.. But it was no refuge for him, instead, he was immediately pushed out of it, landing on his face.

"What do you mean I'm not allowed to?! DO you not know who I am?!" he yelled in anger, as the portal closed again. The Speedforce had illustrated it's conditions very clearly, and Thawne was not happy about it. He tried to pry open the portal into the speedforce again, but to no avail. His left arm was deteriorating.

Feeling how time got even more unstable, Thawne's fist pierced the ground. "Fucking FINE!" he cried out in his fury, his fist summoning a lightning strike as it shattered the concrete under it. He climbed to his feet, and time stopped collapsing, seemingly and his arm stopped falling apart.

"Gideon. Find me Edward Thawne." His words thundered as he sped off in a yellow streak of lightning.

The Zatara estate was small compared to many of the manors and mansions the dotted the upper-class suburbs of outer Gotham. An odd conglomerate of a church and a castle built in the Gothic Revival tradition, like a piece of medieval Europe dropped right in the middle of coastal Jersey. Looking at it through the tinted car window Zatanna felt approximately 23 separate emotions and she didn't like any of them.

Reflexively she began to fish around in her purse pulling out a breath mint wrapped in a saccharine yellow wrapper. A short crescendo of crinkles was followed by a burst of peppermint hitting her tongue. Crumbling the wrapper and tossing it aside Zatanna sighed, it wasn't a cigarette but it was going to have to do. She tightened her hands into little balls fighting the urge to check her phone. She promised herself there would be no work calls. Her adoring fans could deal without the Mistress of Magic for a few days.

The car slowed to a lurch as it came to the top of the hill. She took a moment to realign herself as the chauffeur exited the vehicle and walked towards her door. One deep breath and then another. She eyed her reflection in the mirror. The anxious girl returning home wasn't there in her place was Zatanna Zatara badass bitch: confident, cool, and collected. Turns out a career on the stage was good for something - you got real damn at putting masks on.

The door opened and she stepped out easily into the fresh mid-morning air. Her thigh-high combat boots crunching against the gravel of the driveway. Despite the cloudless day and the sun shining above she had to repress a shiver as she marched toward towards the lard wooden doors of the estate. The house looming above her like a giant eyeing up its prey.

Waiting at the door for her was another giant. Dressed in a simple white ao dai was a hulking titan of a man, large shoulders drew back in perfect posture, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Despite his imposing physicality, there was a softness to his features and his eyes seemed to brighten as he saw Zatanna walking down the path to meet him.

"Still hanging around here Mister Tong?" Zatanna called out to the large man, her facade breaking for a moment as a genuine smile danced across her features.

Her father's former bodyguard and butler return the smile and gave a deep bow. "With all due respect young miss this is my home. Where else would I go?"

"Young Miss?" Zatanna questioned with a raised brow and a curtsey, "I'm not the young girl who played hide and seek with you in the garden Mister Tong"

"No of course not," Tong admitted with a grin. "But you are still far younger than old Tong and as long as that remains true, I shall still refer to you as the young miss."

Zatanna rolled her eyes but the smile remained on her face. As her boots clacked against the stone steps. Tong pushed open the large wooden doors ushering her forward. The grin that had slowly been growing on Zatanna's face died where it stood. She froze there for a minute on the threshold. Unable to move her foot beyond the door, time frozen, the pulse of her heart strong enough to feel in her hands. She bit down hard into the peppermint candy in her mouth, the burst of peppermint as shards of white and red coated her tongue was just enough to force to get her through the door.

Zatanna wasn't sure if it was possibly how it was possible but in her 27 years, she wasn't sure that the house changed. Caught in some unspecified stasis that held every coat and book within its grasp. The same pair of mud-covered boots sat by the door and the same book on the semantic evolution of Swedish sat on the table in the foyer. It had the unnerving and unpleasant effect for Zatanna of immediate drawing her back in time, a time machine composed of old artifacts and perpetual cobwebs.

The pair walked quietly through the halls, the wooden floorboards creaking ever so slightly in protest against Tong's weight. A slow procession passed a seemingly endless array of bookshelves, display cases, and portraits.

"Were you with him when...." Zatanna spoke allowed her whispering tones echoing like a scream in the quiet of the house.

"No," Tong admitted with great pain, "when your father retired for the evening all seemed fine. I did not find him until the morning."

"I see..." Zatanna spoke the words heavy and clumsy coming out of her mouth.

"My deepest apologies young -" Tong started

"No, no" Zatanna answered quickly "it's fine. I was just wondering that was all."

By this time their meandering path brought them to the drawing room. The door was already ajar and the warm glow of light spilling through the crack. Giving one last nod and look to Tong she stepped into the room.ought

There in the center of the room were two chairs and a table. Sitting at one of those chairs was a man dressed in a sharp suit and wearing a trilby hat, his eyes concealed by the shadows of the room as he shuffled through a stack of papers. There next to him sitting on the table was a large bronze urn and one of her father's old antique gas lamps, the flame flickering as it illuminated the space around them. At the sound of Zatanna footsteps, the man in the chair looked up and smiled.

"Ms. Zatara, it is my pleasure to finally meet you." The man said with raising from his chair and offering a hand.

"Just, just Zatanna please" Zatanna insisted as she took the hand. It was cold to the touch the handshake itself was firm.

"Zatanna it is," The man responded with a knowing smile "allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Granters I am the executor of your father's estate."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Granters," Zatanna replied giving the man the same polite smile that any reporter or fan knew from her quite well. Granters motioned towards the seat and Zatanna nodded sitting across from him. Though as she did her eyes couldn't help but fall to the large urn sitting on the table. A pit in her stomach growing larger and larger the more she examined it.

"Is that...?"

"Indeed," Granters replied with the removed sympathy of a man that did this often "I'm sorry that you weren't able to be there. He was very particular in his will that immediately upon death he was the cremated post-haste. To prevent any "nefarious"" forces from having their way with his corpse."

"That sounds like him," Zatanna admitted with a trace of venom in her voice. She looked over to Mr. Granters as she reached over to touch the urn. The man nodding his head and making a small gesture towards it.

Zatanna took the urn in her hands. The metal exterior was cold and was surprisingly heavy for what it was. Though it wasn’t like Zatanna had much of a metric to judge on, this was the first time she was holding something like this. She reached her fingers against the raised engraving, a repeating pattern of stars and moons that ran across the entire exterior

“Zatanna” Granters started stirring the women from her contemplation.

“Yes?” Zatanna asked as she placed the urn back on the table. Granters now had gathered the collected papers from his lap into his hands and was peering them over.

“It’s time to go over the estate,” Granters explained begining to read aloud her father’s will.

Most of the explanation of the will ended up falling on deaf ears. Zatanna was unable or unwilling to focus on the proceedings. Her attention being dragged away again and again towards where she had placed the urn on the table. The very sight of it making her stomach perform minor curls and flips. Somewhere in the middle she brought out another parcel peppermint and placed it in her mouth, trying her best to quell whatever anxiety was starting to build in her chest.

“There is one more thing,” Granters proclaimed as he cleared his throat and pulled the rest of the papers together “your father had left one more thing for you”

Granters rose from his chair and gestured for Zatanna to follow. Together they took a brisk pace through the house. Climbing up old protesting stairs and turning towards the left, the path they followed was one that Zatanna knew well. They stopped at an ornately carved wooden door, the letters G and Z burned into the wood. Her father’s study.

Zatanna turned to look at Granters who nodded his head. She reached for the handle and tested the door.

Well-oiled hinges swung open without protest. Stacks and stacks of bookshelves lined the walls filled and overflowing, the titles of the bindings in dozens of different languages. A menagerie of artifacts lined the walls: jewel-encrusted weapons, maps, and even the bones of some strange animals that defied explanation. There at the center of it all next to a large fireplace was a large desk and atop the desk was appeared to be a stack of books.

Zatanna looked towards Granters for confirmation but the executor was gone. Taken aback at this she looked down the hallway to her left and then to her right.

“Mr. Granters?” She called out her voice echoing down the hall to no response.

A thud from her father’s study made her address the room. The curtains about the center window fluttered like a breeze had just passed through despite the windows being closed. And there in the center of the room, a book had fallen off one of the shelves. Tentatively Zatanna stepped into the room with the tepidness of a child entering a haunted house.

The first thing that Zatanna noticed was the smell. It smelled like him, the air carrying the faint order of the cologne that he specifically had imported in from Italy. A lingering remnant somehow managing to cling on despite everything.  She kneeled down to pick up the book that had fallen, the cover pulling away from the binding from use and age. The writing seemed to be in a language that Zatanna herself couldn’t read. A strange series of interlocking runes and twisted tentacles creating a series of indecipherable geometric patterns. She carried the book over to the desk placing it on the corner.

There on the desk was a large stack of leather-bound journals and atop of them was a white envelope with her name on it. The only thing inside was a folded piece of parchment. Looking once and twice around the room unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched Zatanna pulled out the parchment. And there was a letter written in her father’s hand.

    La mia bella orchidea,
        If you are reading this letter than I fear you are in grave danger