An attendant at the South Keystone Animal Rescue was drifting off when a sudden wind roused him. Standing just inside the entrance was a masked man dressed in red and yellow. In his arms were about a half dozen cats that looked scared out of their minds.

“Hi,” said the masked man. “Can you help get these guys off me? Their claws are digging like crazy.”

OVER BEFORE THE START

By Stephen Crosby

During the night in Central City, Kansas, a faint red glow could be seen in the streets. This was its newly arrived hero, the Flash, already declared by newspapers and bloggers as The Fastest Man Alive. Almost immediately the Daily Planet of Metropolis had challenged this, with the media outlets of both cities calling for an official race between Flash and Superman. Neither hero had issued a statement about this challenge.

In his opening few weeks of activity, Flash had taken to running a regular patrol inside Central City, with less regular patrols to the surrounding towns and cities within fifty miles. Flash had been conservative with the schedule at first, and then grown more generous as he came to appreciate just how fast he was able to run. In less than twenty minutes he could comfortably run every street in the Central City limits. From his dorm room at Central City University, Flash could run his most outlying patrol and make it back to bed within an hour. All assuming he didn’t run into trouble.

For those first few weeks, Flash had seen precious little in the way of crime-fighting. As he was running through a given area, nothing else appeared to be moving. Several times he viewed suspicious activity that later turned out to be a crime in progress—car thefts and one assault—but most times when Flash doubled back, he found the man reaching into his coat pulling out keys or identification. Still new to things and having not reached an understanding with authorities, Flash was hesitant to act unless he was absolutely sure it was the right thing to do.

Thus far, Flash’s most productive use of patrolling had been in the way of stray animals and the homeless, once he’d realized he could run without harming passengers. The first time he’d made the mistake of dropping them off at the nearest respective shelter, a mistake that led to severe overcrowding in some while others saw barely any rise in occupancy. Flash took note of this and did research into the best drop-off sites, even volunteering at one near the university as Wally West. As a result Central City’s streets were a lot cleaner, though crime rates hadn’t noticeably changed.

In an effort to find trouble spots, Flash had tried listening to the police band. At first he couldn’t hear anything over the rush of air as he ran through it, then when he inserted an earpiece he still couldn’t hear. Every word—the slightest sound—was so drawn out that when the end came he couldn’t remember the beginning.

“Maybe if they were typed out,” Flash muttered to himself as he was running back to his dorm. “Something like a ticker scrolling the transmission.” To his eyes, the words would still be moving at a snail’s pace, but at least he would know what he was reading.

Near to his dormitory, Flash rapidly dug up a section of loose dirt and retrieved a bag filled with clothes and a pair of running shoes. So far as Wally’s roommates knew, he took a nightly “run.” Moving behind the bushes for a modicum of privacy, Flash changed out of his costume where it replaced his clothes in the bag and ground. It was a temporary solution, Wally told himself, and wished not for the first time that he could fold it small enough to fit in his wallet.

“Excuse me. Hey!” Wally called out to the man leaving the classroom ahead of him. He was a couple of years older than Wally, with longish hair a lighter shade of red bound in a ponytail. And deaf, Wally realized, suddenly feeling very stupid as that was the whole reason he wanted to talk to Hartley Rathaway.

But then, much to Wally’s surprise, Hartley turned his head and looked at him. “Yes. Is there something you want?”

Wally stopped hard, flabbergasted. “Uh, yeah. I was trying to get your attention, but then I realized… How did you hear me?”

“Cochlear implant,” Hartley said, making gestures with his hands and pointing at his ears. He did talk like Wally would have thought, the way he’d heard on television. Hartley looked Wally up and down, and then tilted his head a little. “Well, now that you have my attention, what do you want with it?”

Wally took a breath and started with the pretense he’d prepared. “Well, I’m starting a paper on how advancing technology is being used by…”

A few minutes later, the two young men were in a lab Hartley had access to as an undergraduate. Wally was admiring the equipment on a workbench; an array of recording and stereo equipment. Hartley was several feet away, going through the bag he had left there.

“What does all this sound stuff have to do with a psych thesis?” Wally asked.

“I’m studying the effects of frequencies on the human mind,” said Hartley. “Well, animals now. It’s hard to tell when mice get happy or sad, but I’ve made progress. But it’s too far in the early stages for a proper thesis. So for that I’m doing a study on suicide, causes and effects.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting.”

“Not really. Mostly I pour over survivor accounts or read the statements of victims’ friends and families. What I’d prefer is some hands-on research, conduct my own interviews, or better yet, witness the warning signs myself.” Hartley bent down as he reached through the bag. “You’ll find I’m a very hands-on person. Ah, here it is.”

Wally turned as Hartley straightened, and saw that he was holding what seemed to be a digital music player. Hartley handed it to him, and on examination Wally saw that it didn’t have a port for headphones.

“Here, let me turn it on for you.” The entire time Wally was holding the player, Hartley hadn’t let go. His thumb brushed along the surface and it began to vibrate. Instead of music it vibrates the tune of the song. Unfortunately I don’t think you’ll be able to appreciate it. It takes a…rather special touch to discern the subtlety.”

“Yeah I, I can tell.” Wally looked up and saw that Hartley was looking into his eyes. “I can tell there’s something, but I can’t recognize it. But what about lyrics?”

“Just double-tap the screen.” Wally saw that when he did that the screen, which had previously displayed the name of song and artist, was now scrolling lyrics. “I only use it for podcasts, myself. Music is something to feel, not see.”

“Yeah, yeah I know what you mean. So, what’s the company that makes this? I’m sure they have a whole press packet I can cite.”

“Oh, the name’s right on it. You can take this for now, see first-hand how it works. When you’re done, you just give it back next time you see me. At lunch or a party.”

“Okay. Great.” Wally pulled a little. The player is released to him with only a little give. “Might take a bit. With classes and everything, hard to schedule fun.”

“Don’t I know it?”

“All right, well, thanks.” Slipping the player into his pocket, Wally nodded and backed out of the lab. Once out in the hall and out of sight, he lets out a long breath. “Now I’ve got that to deal with. Oh boy.”

It was on his first night of patrol that Flash made use of his new closed captioned police band. He was running outside of Central City, towards one of the suburbs, when he looked down and read the beginning of a bulletin. From reading his late Uncle Barry Allen’s old police handbook, Flash knew the codes and so knew that a breaking and entering was being reported. Two seconds and almost as many miles later, Flash stopped and waited for the address to appear.

“Well, it’s still slow,” Flash muttered. “But better than nothing.”

The instant he saw the address, the Flash raced off. Four times he made wrong turns, and ended up at Broome Avenue instead of Broome Street. At almost half-a-minute wasted, Flash decided he really needed to study the local maps.

When Flash ran past a police car moving at a snail’s pace, he had a feeling he was going the right way. Two blocks up and a left turn later, he saw a van just beginning to drive away from the address. Quickly, he circled the car and looked inside, seeing one man, two bags full of unseen contents, and a nice flat screen television. Wanting to be sure, Flash ran towards the house. The door was still open, and he didn’t have to run inside to see it’d been ransacked.

A minute earlier, Flash knew, he could have grabbed the thief out in the open. How was he supposed to stop a car?

When Flash turned from the house he saw the van was nearing the end of the block, about to make a turn. The patrol car wasn’t in sight, but the Flash heard a long piercing wail that may have been the siren. Later, Flash would realize that he should have just let the police handle the matter, or if necessary follow the thief to his home and call in a tip. But in that moment he was a young, exuberant who wanted to do something exciting with his powers.

Flash knew that his body had adapted to the high speeds he ran, that he had some form of resistance but not the extent. He was by no means super-strong, so grabbing the van and holding it in place was out. But as Flash ran at the van, he considered a type of collision, either full-on or a clip. Something that would knock the vehicle off the street and into a pole, something minor that would slow down the criminal until the police arrived.

At the very last instant, Flash thought about sonic booms. If he ran fast enough, just briefly, maybe he could create one and move the van with that. It was certainly preferable to a collision and risking injury to himself. So Flash did just that. Right before impact, he turned and ran along the van’s driver side, faster than he’d ever moved before.

It was so sudden and powerful, the sensation of air moving past him so rapidly. Flash could help but think about the story of Moses and the Red Sea, because after the part came the joining. The air collided so hard behind Flash, that when he tried to slow down he found himself being pushed forward. Arms and legs flailing wildly, Flash ran out of control and crashed into garbage cans on the other side of the street. Full garbage cans.

Sitting up on a stranger’s front lawn, covered in filth, Flash experienced a lapse in concentration. The flow of the world returned to normal in his eyes. And his ears, as Flash could once again hear. The very first sound was screams.

Flash could see the van across the street, stopped but upright. It appeared to be undamaged from being in his wake, aside from the driver side windows being gone. They had shattered, sprayed the burglar’s face with glass.

Suddenly Flash was at the van, opening the door. He didn’t recall getting up, running, but he must have because there he was. The burglar’s scream was now this long throb at the base of Flash’s skull, and he now had the man on the pavement, lying still as a statue as he feverish. Flash touched what at first he assumed to be a small piece down under the jaw, but he saw it was longer. It hadn’t happened yet but Flash could feel it, a spray coming.

There were two throbs now, a second noise. When Flash lifted his head he saw the police car had arrived. Two police officers were exiting, hands reaching for their weapons. Flash knew this from what he saw, that snapshot of a split-second, and could only imagine what they were seeing. A man on the sidewalk, bleeding. Would they assume Flash to be a mist of blood?

An instant later, man and mist would be gone. Flash had considered asking the officers for help. They could have called an ambulance and staunched the burglar’s bleeding until it arrived. After wasting seconds telling Flash to get away from the man, maybe even handcuffing the strange masked freak to make sure he wasn’t a threat. Even with the press Flash knew he was considered little more than a myth, he’d yet to work with authorities or gain their trust. That wasn’t the time to start, Flash knew, so he picked up the injured criminal and he ran.

It was several blocks later that Flash realized the danger of what he was doing. He could feel it, the speed of sound approaching and the shockwave it would create, so he kept just on the slow side of that. Still, Flash realized, the speed couldn’t be good for his passenger. And yet Flash could feel it all around, a kind of cushion that was impossibly keeping the realities of speed from them. Up ahead, Flash could see the light of hospital and was grateful for it, because his arms were feeling so tired and heavy.

That was the longest period of Flash’s life, waiting for the emergency room doors to open automatically. That was when the gush came, warm blood that obscured the lightning on Flash’s chest. It was also when the attendants noticed, and were beginning to move when Flash rushed inside and set the man down. Quickly, before more blood could be lost, Flash grabbed bandages and pressed them to the man’s face and neck.

“This man needs help!” Flash slowed down enough to shout. “Please!”

Attendants who had been moving toward the door had now turned around. A woman brusquely told Flash to step aside and expertly applied pressure in his place. Raising his blood covered hands, Flash obediently stepped back and let the professionals do their job. A security guard started towards him, and Flash took that as his cue to leave.

All the next day, Wally West was in a funk. On campus he was going through the motions, half-listening to lectures. He couldn’t focus on anything except the night before, and what he could have done differently. Finally, in the Physics class, he half-heard that sounded like a solution.

After class, Wally hung back a little, so that he was leaving at the same time as his roommate, Chester Runk.

“Hey Chester, can I talk to you?”

The large young man slowed a little, letting Wally go through the door first. “Sure thing, Wally. Are you all right? You’ve looked distracted all day.”

“Oh, I’d just been thinking hard about something. Did you hear that news this morning, about Flash?”

Chester nodded. “Yeah, it’s lucky that guy didn’t die. It’s sad though, one stupid mistake and everybody’s turning against him.”

“Mostly people seem scared. Me, I was wondering exactly what he did. On the surface it sounded like he busted some windows, but they mentioned some kind of explosion.”

“That would have been a sonic boom,” Chester said. “What Flash must have done was run faster than the speed of sound. That caused the air in front of him to separate, then crash together behind him with tremendous force. Like I said a stupid mistake.”

“How so?”

Chester paused to wave at some girls who were walking by. They continued on, ignoring him. “Flash ran the guy to the hospital, so he didn’t mean to hurt him. Maybe he didn’t mean to run so fast, or didn’t realize what kind of damage a sonic boom could do. I think the latter. Nobody’s ever really been able to measure the effects at such close proximity.”

“That makes sense,” said Wally. He’d certainly had no idea what he was doing. “So, a simple solution would be to never run that fast.”

“I don’t know why I’d have to run more than a mile in five seconds.” But then Chester stopped and rubbed his chin. “There may be something else. Weren’t you listening in class?”

“A little. The professor was talking about vibrational frequencies. A theory about moving matter through matter.”

“Basically he claimed that if an object vibrated rapidly enough, that it could pass through another object. It would be like if two galaxies collided, their stars and planets are so spread out that the galaxies would pass through each other without really touching.”

“Wow, that’s a little big to wrap my head around.” Chester was walking again, and Wally kept in step with him. “Do you think that would be possible though?”

“It may already be. I haven’t read about any sonic booms in Metropolis.”

“Superman?” Wally tried to hide a sense of jealously. “You think he’s really that fast?”

“He’d have to be, if what I’ve read is true. And if he’s figured out how to do it, maybe he could help Flash.”

“I suppose.” Or maybe I could figure it out for myself, like Superman must have, Wally thought to himself. “Well, I’d better hurry to my next class. Thanks Chester. You should write a paper about this kind of stuff.”

Half an hour later Wally was in his Criminology class, listening to Professor Zolomon talking about forensic techniques. Several rows over, Wally noticed his classmate, Angela Margolin. As class was letting out, he hurried up to Angela as she was leaving the building.

“Angela, hey.”

Angela turned, and smiled when she saw it was Wally. “Oh, hey Wally. No hard feelings about the internship, huh?”

“Uh, no,” Wally said, a little confused. “I didn’t apply for it, so…”

“Oh, I had assumed…you know, because of your uncle.” Angela’s smile was nervous now, afraid she was saying something wrong.

“I know better than to think I can do that job,” Wally said. “Patty Spivot still running the lab?”

“Yeah. It’s crazy how much we look alike.”

Now that she mentioned it, Wally did see something of a resemblance. The short blond hair, glasses. “I met her once. She seemed nice.”

“Yeah, I liked her at the interview. But then…” Angela sighed. “I shouldn’t complain. The job’s changing, and she’s handling it as best she can.”

“What do you mean?”

“All these…I don’t know what they are, popping up. Like that thing Flash did last night? If we didn’t already know about him, and he wasn’t seen, how could that have been explained? And you have a guy that can fly, melt things just by looking at them. Just when science is reaching the point where we can explain everything, a whole new series of impossibilities show up.”

“I can see your point.” Wally remembered reading his uncle’s comics, and Barry explaining how different those situations would be in the real world. Wally hadn’t considered the ramifications of his activities though. And the press had ignored it too, focusing on the sensationalism of such fantastic feats. That would change though.

“Oh, my roommate’s waiting for me.” Angela motioned towards an attractive brunette waving at them from some distance away. “I have to go, but his was a nice talk. We should do it again.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Okay. Here goes.”

The Flash was several miles outside of Central City, on a large unused stretch of land. He lowered into a runner’s stance, psyching himself up to run as fast as he’d gone once before. This time by trying a new trick.

“On your mark,” Flash said softly to himself. “Get set…go!”

There was a sound as Flash was running. Not the sonic boom of breaking the sound barrier, just the standard noise of an object, such as a car, moving suddenly and rapidly through the air. Flash was going faster and faster, clearing one mile in just over five seconds, and preparing to make the next mile in less.

Flash could feel it, how noticeably harder it was for him to run this time. Because now he wasn’t just running, he was also vibrating. For hours yesterday he’d practiced, vibrating while standing perfectly still. It’d taken effort then, and eventually Flash saw that it was having an effect on the shot glass sitting on the table. When Flash had moved his vibrating arm, just the barest fraction of an inch, the glass had shattered.

Wrong frequency, Flash decided. It’d taken a lot more hours until he felt it was time for a run. In the middle of nowhere, a sonic boom shouldn’t affect anyone else.

That was if Flash could make it. Running and vibrating at the same time, it reminded him of the winters in Nebraska. He would try to run through high drifts of snow, creating a weak trench behind him. That first mile was harder than anything Flash had done before, left his legs feeling leaden and useless. The next, seemed almost impossible.

Suddenly Flash could feel it, the tight stretch of a rubber band that was him reaching a critical speed. This was when it happened last time, the breaking and reuniting, and he nearly faltered. But he pushed on, forced his dead-weight legs still harder, his entire body like a tuning fork.

That was when it happened, the air rushing through Flash rather than around him. Just like that Flash wasn’t running through snow. He was running through nothing, nothing at all, lighter than air.

The experience was so sudden, so surreal, that Flash’s concentration faltered. That was when he realized he’d been running faster than sound, because when his vibrations ceased the barest sliver of an instant before he slowed, the boom struck him again. Once more, Flash rolled end-over-end across the hard ground, until he was lying in a daze face-up. That nothing had broken was remarkable.

After a long minute, Flash struggled to his feet. Nearby he saw something black on the ground, his dispatch monitor. Had that broken, he wondered. But no, when he picked it up and turned it on, Flash saw a message scrolling on the display.

“CCU Campus Police respond to Pelletier Hall. Possible overdose.”

As tired and pained as Flash felt, he ran. He ran and vibrated so he could run still faster. Later he would reflect on how remarkable the unconscious mind is. When he reached the campus, Pelletier Hall, he didn’t even think about slowing his speed before the vibrations. His body just did it, now that Flash knew it could.

Flash stopped just outside Pelletier Hall. Also outside was an ambulance, EMTs loading a gurney into it. A number of students were gathered outside, including Angela, who Flash knew lived in Pelletier Hall. On the gurney was the brunette Wally had seen the other day, Angela’s roommate.

Someone may have noticed Flash before he ran off, he didn’t know nor care. He was tired and hungry and felt useless and all he wanted to do was change into his clothes and rest.

My name is Wally West. I’m Flash, the Fastest Man Alive. Sometimes that isn’t enough

NEXT: The Flash encounters his first Rogue!