INHERITANCE

By D. Golightly

“You’re the daughter of who?”

The Flash cracked his neck, both in irritation and an attempt to try to loosen up. The close contours of his scarlet uniform, an homage to his predecessor, were tarnished and torn. His fight with Mirror Master had left him the worse for wear, but thanks to the blonde woman standing in front of him, he had come out in one piece.*

* [Last ish – Diamond Dave]

“Johnathon Chambers,” she said. Now it was her turn to show a little irritation. “You know . . . Johnny Quick?”

The Flash smirked as he slid back his cowl. The yellow ear pieces fell onto his shoulders as his ginger hair burst out of the confines of the hood. He fought back a jab of pain in his joints from the movement, determined not to let her see just how much McCullough had sliced him up.

Once the crowd outside the Flash Museum had dissipated he had ushered her inside. Since the announcement of the rededication of the Museum in his honor, Wally West had decided to make it his base of operations. While he rarely stood in one place, he had quickly realized over the last year that he needed somewhere to strategize. The Museum had outfitted him with sufficient equipment for his quarrels with the various Rogues that had come to plague the city.

Now, with all visitors removed, it was just the two of them standing inside the main entrance. Statues depicting important events in the life of Barry Allen surrounded them, along with other motifs and a gift shop filled with versions of his famous lightning bolt symbol.

“Look . . . Jesse, was it?” Flash continued. “I appreciate the help today, but—”

“Oh, no way. That is not happening.” The blonde woman ground her teeth and shifted her weight to one side, planting her feet. Her fists slammed into her hips and she locked gazes with Flash. “You are not blowing me off. I’ve heard about your ego, and your tendency to run solo.”

“Look,” Flash said, throwing his hands up defensively. “I’m not trying to insult you or anything. It’s just . . . well, I’ve had fans say some weird things to get close to me before. I’m sure you’re nice and—”

Jesse Chambers became a blur of motion as she burst into subsonic speed. Where once stood a trim and fit woman in her twenties was now only a vacuum of space. She raced two laps around Wally at a 15-foot diameter before swiftly rocketing up a nearby flight of stairs to an observation deck that overlooked the main Flash Museum entrance.

She paused at the railing, looking down at him. He had no difficulty trailing her with his eyes, but he was still impressed at the control she maintained. He judged her speed at somewhere around the 150 mile per hour mark, and in such close quarters that was pretty good.

“Did you forget already who saved you from Mirror Master?” Jesse quipped. “This is serious, Flash. I need your help. My dad is missing.”

Wally sighed and rubbed the top of his head. The abrasive glove scratched his scalp as he mussed his own hair, and he said, “Alright. I’m sorry. Come on down and follow me.”

She complied, arriving next to him within the blink of an eye. He felt the rush of her presence, but chose to walk determinedly through the Museum. She was obviously eager, but he didn’t like racing through the Museum. This was a place of history, of legacy, and he thought it disrespectful to Barry if he never took the time to appreciate the place.

He led her passed several exhibits, most of which included weapons or figures of former villains. As soon as they were beyond a jungle exhibit that depicted a city full of sentient gorillas, he stopped. They had arrived at the Hall of Allies.

“You’re the daughter of Johnny Quick, huh?”

Jesse nodded. She turned to look through the glass double doors, and just a few displays in she could see the red and yellow coloring of a figure that looked very familiar to her. His black domino mask was perfectly classic in nature, and his winged yellow gloves actually looked dashing as opposed to comical. He had always cut a noble figure, she thought.

“I never had the chance to meet him,” Flash said. “I know probably almost as much as you do, though. He was one of the more favored friends as far as all the speedsters went. He could always be counted on.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“What?”

“Speak in the past tense. My father is missing, not dead.”

Wally’s lips thinned. “Right. Sorry. Unintentional. Let’s step into my office and you can talk to me about what happened, and why you need my help. Can you vibrate through walls?”

She shook her head. “I don’t have the control for it.”

“Okay, then hold on and whatever you do don’t let go.”

Flash took Jesse by the hand and focused inwardly. He felt his own internal vibrations begin to align exactly how he wanted them to, how he needed them to. His face began to jut back and forth rapidly and his features blurred. His entire body started to hum with power as his very molecules came under his direct control.

The air crackled with energy produced by the friction. The vibrations trailed down through his air, into his hand, and through his fingers. Jesse held her breath and gripped Flash’s hand tightly, feeling the vibration take over her own body.

Flash turned, leading her to a wall directly across from the Hall of Allies. The blank section seemed to melt away as they simply walked through the solid matter, all the while remaining totally intact. Their molecules passed between those of the wall, allowing them limited intangibility, and access to Flash’s private sanctum.

There were no other access ways into the sanctum, aside from a skylight above. Sunshine cast down onto a fairly sparse room. The walls were rounded, leading Jesse to think that they were in the center of the Museum. To one side was a cot with a few cloths scattered around the floor, a kitchenette, and a bookshelf that held a few personal items. The other side of the relatively small room held a large computer bank, mostly hidden beneath and behind a rounded desk.

Flash whipped in front of the desk and waved his arm horizontally over top of the desk. A holographic display sprung to life, bringing up several translucent screens of information hovering in midair. Flash extended his hands and a holographic keyboard focused into life. He started typing in commands at rapid speed.

In an instant the holograms displayed everything that the Flash Museum held on her father. Johnny Quick looked youthful and vibrant, not unlike Jesse knew him to be today. Several screen captures showed him punching out villains like the Fiddler and Toyman.

More and more screen shimmered into being, with tons of information scrolling through at an insane speed. She caught a few headlines from newspapers, but the images were scrolling by too fast for her to follow.

“Slow down,” she said.

The images stopped as Flash removed his fingers from the holographic keyboard. “Sorry,” he replied. “The system is keyed to my speed. I can surf as fast as I need to and soak in all the data I need. Your speed isn’t constant, is it?”

She shook her head. “No. I didn’t even have these powers until my dad disappeared. I sort of need to . . . concentrate to turn them on. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense. I was like that as a teenager. I’m betting that you’ll grow into them soon enough. Your body needs to adjust how it perceives reality in conjunction with attuning to the actual physicality of movement. So, you got the powers when your dad went missing? How long ago was that?”

“Six months.”

“What’s the correlation?”

She shook her head again, this time closing her eyes in frustration. “I have no clue,” she answered. “Dad went missing; I went supersonic. I never displayed speed powers before six months ago. My only lead on his disappearance was a trail of shattered glass leading from his house. It stopped when it reached the yard, though.”

“Glass. Okay. That’s a start. Anything else?”

“I can’t really . . . well, I can’t really control my speed. I mean, I can concentrate to switch it on when I really want to, but sometimes I have trouble turning it off, too.”

Flash looked her over from head to toe, raising one eye brow. Jesse suddenly felt uncomfortable, like maybe she had made a mistake. She was trapped in here, after all, unless maybe she could run up the curved walls to the skylight. Had she made a mistake coming to this pompous brat? He didn’t even pick up after himself in his own headquarters. Could she really trust this guy to find her father?

Flash zipped out through the wall, vibrating his molecules once more, only to return half a heartbeat later. He flung something red at her, which she instinctively caught.

“Try that on,” he said. “I’m only guessing at the size, but . . .”

“What is this?”

Flash smiled. “If you’re going to run with me, you need to look the part.”

Twin wisps of scarlet dashed through Central City, one desperately trying to keep up with the other. They were quickly reaching excess speeds of 300 miles per hour, and the vortexes of wind in their wake were causing havoc with the people throughout the city. Suddenly just trying to get a cup of coffee from the corner vendor became temporary hurricane of activity.

Jesse’s red bodysuit fit her snugly, clinging to the curves and contours of her body. She had to admit that it made her movements more fluid and she felt fairly comfortable wearing it, even if she felt a little creeped out. Flash had explained that the Museum had a costume department that worked to recreate the colorful ensembles worn by the Flash’s enemies, purely for wax figure display purposes. They typically had a few duds lying around that never panned out, or weren’t close enough to the real things to warrant placement in the Museum.

The tight crimson suit that Jesse now wore had been meant for some female Flash impersonator from Barry Allen’s day. It had been sitting around collecting dust and Flash said she could just hang onto it.

“You need to think two or three steps ahead,” Flash said. He had slowed down slightly and was running backward, yet still matching Jesse’s speed. “It’s not like running on the track at your high school. You haven’t taught yourself to think like a speedster yet.”

“I can’t . . . look out!”

Flash whipped around just in time to avoid being reverse-clotheslined by a pair of men carrying a stack a long pipe between them. Flash instantly zipped around and ducked underneath the plumping pipes, and then tossed a smirk over his shoulder at Jesse.

“Thanks, but I probably would have felt the pipes touch the back of my skull and then shifted into a higher gear automatically to avoid the collision,” Flash said. “You develop hyper-senses eventually. Your body will tell you when you need to go faster.”

“My body is just telling me that I’m moving at a suicidal speed. Seriously, can’t we slow down? Just a little?”

Flash rocketed down a suburban street and made a sharp right turn. When Jesse made the same turn she saw Flash standing outside of a very familiar house. The white picket fence was the same one she had helped her parents paint two summers ago.

She skidded to a stop and was a little embarrassed to see that she had left tread marks on the pavement. The Flash hadn’t left any.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

“Investigating. Tell me more about the glass trail you found. Where was it exactly?”

“The police went over everything,” Jesse said. “Not to sound like a jerk, because I really appreciate the pointers you’ve given me already, but in depth investigation isn’t really your thing. The police combed for clues. They’re the detectives. What I need from you is—”

“A lead on where your father is.”

She shrugged. “I figured because you’re a speedster and he was, too, that maybe you could give me some insight onto how he was even abducted in the first place.”

Even though Flash had a look of annoyance on his face, the truth was that he wasn’t really all that offended. She was right. He had grown up in a true hero’s shadow. He had used his powers and fame more than once to get what he wanted, even if it was just to get into a night club. He never truly sold out, but Jesse Chambers seemed to look at him like he was a reality TV star that was famous simply for being famous.

Compared to his own view of himself, it wasn’t that far off the mark. But he was determined to change that. With the Museum rededicated in his image, he didn’t want to smudge the Flash’s legacy. That meant new tactics and new attitudes toward his life’s calling.

“Look,” he said. “I get it. Honestly, I’m not—”

A whistling sound caught Flash off his guard. His forehead crinkled in confusion and he turned just in time to see an oblong silver shape came smashing down toward his head. He reacted at super speed, stepping aside dozens of milliseconds before the electrified baton would have cracked into his skull.

As a precaution, Flash zipped back a safe distance to take proper stock of whoever his assailant was this time. He was stunned by what he saw: a man wearing a white cape and gray body armor with a sleek purple bodysuit beneath was somehow half in this world, and half inside a shimmering energy window that vivisected his body.

The man finished stepping out of the portal, which promptly collapsed in on itself and slammed shut like an actual window, complete with a slamming noise. The man’s face was mostly hidden by a studded helmet that had two antenna sticking straight up on each side. He whirled the baton like he knew how to use it and smiled.

“The name’s Prometheus,” the newcomer said. “This will only take a second.”

Prometheus lunged at Jesse, who had failed to move any further away, since she was so shocked by the sudden arrival of the armored man. The energized baton swung up and then down, ready to smash into Jesse’s head, but Flash shoved her out of the way first and then narrowly avoided being struck himself.

Prometheus didn’t miss a beat, swinging wildly for Flash’s midsection. Despite his obvious prowess with the weapon, his speed was dismal compared to the Flash. He bent his body to miss the strike and then tossed an uppercut of his own at Prometheus.

To his total shock and awe, Prometheus dodged the hastily thrown punch. Flash’s fist had been moving somewhere in the 75 mile per hour range, much faster than a normal man’s reflexes could operate at such close quarters. Flash swung again and again, and to his utter amazement, he failed to land a single blow against his quarry.

Just as Flash stopped swinging, Prometheus drove a knee into Flash’s gut. The speedster doubled over, more from bewilderment than anything else. Prometheus, whoever he was, seemed to have been trained for how to handle a speedster in hand-to-hand combat. From what the Flash could tell this character didn’t have enhanced reflexes or increased speed himself.

He was just good. Scary good.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Prometheus said. He took a few steps back casually to admire his befallen foe. “No, I’m not a speedster. I’m not even a metahuman. Let’s just say that I’ve got everything I need to take you down . . . right up here.”

He tapped the side of his helmet, but Flash didn’t think he was pointing to his head like he was implying. No, that helmet was different. Unnecessarily bulky on the sides. Was it for more than just protection? Maybe he had some sort of heads-up display attuned to his speed.

“I’ve been waiting here for you both to show,” Prometheus said. “Considering who you are, I really didn’t think it would take you this long – whoa!”

Jesse Chambers raced forward in an attempt to connect a right haymaker with Prometheus’ chin. The villain leaned away from the strike, however, and Jesse, unable to control herself more acutely, tore up a section of the sidewalk trying to stop her momentum and turn around.

“Easy, little girl,” Prometheus chided. “You don’t actually need to be here for this.”

With a flick of his thumb, a needle flicked out of the end of the electrified baton. Prometheus swung the weapon around several times as he strode forward, heading for the downed Flash. Despite Jesse’s shortcomings concerning control, she had bought the speedster a few precious seconds to regain his breath and his equilibrium.

The Flash launched into a tirade of quick jabs and movements, but nothing connected. Prometheus was somehow anticipating his attacks, deftly avoiding every single blow nanoseconds before it landed. Again, the villain wasn’t moving at super speed, but was instead fluidly weaving between Flash’s precise strikes.

Wally swung his left fist in frustration at Prometheus’ center mass, hoping he might finally connect with something. Prometheus once more sidestepped the movement, and then he brought down the end of his baton, needle first, into Flash’s leg.

A blur of pain splashed through Flash’s concentration, and he fell to one knee, gripping the pricked thigh muscle with both hands. Prometheus leapt back, clearing Flash’s reach, and swung the baton around with another sinister smile.

“And that will be a good day to you then,” Prometheus said in a sing-song voice.

The strange window in reality opened up beside him once more, eliciting the same noise that a set of opening window shutters might yield. He stepped through, and it slammed shut behind him. He was gone.

Jesse raced to Flash’s side. “Are you okay?” she shouted, her adrenaline pumping. “Who was that guy?”

“I . . . I have no idea.”

Flash winced as he stood up. He rubbed at the spot on this thigh where the needle had plunged into his muscle, but his hyper metabolism had already sealed off the tiny wound. It still stung, but he was worrying if he had been injected with something. What could Prometheus’ end game really have been? He said he was lying in wait for them, but why?

The only reason for them to be here was because of Jesse’s missing father. Somehow, Prometheus was connected to the larger picture.

Flash just needed to figure out how.

The window shutters of Prometheus’ portal slid open and he stepped freely into the pocket dimension. It was different than the place he called home, but he could admire its charms. It was obvious why the man he was working for loved it here, especially considering his own motif.

Various reflective surfaces relayed his armored form back to him, revealing a flowing white cape and gray armor. He took a moment to admire his visage before he noticed that he was being watched.

He turned around to see an elderly man watching him closely, perhaps almost anxiously. Prometheus smiled and removed his helmet, mostly as a gesture of good faith. Even though he was still a dangerous man without his synaptic relay helmet, which fed him a barrage of information directly into his brain, it was a mark of peace to take it off.

“Thank you,” the elder man said. He gestured to a console beside him. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Prometheus nodded his affirmation and then sauntered over to the console. He set his helmet down onto the equipment and plugged a thick cable into the side of his helmet. Data began streaming across one of the many screens that the elder man was closely watching.

“Is this everything you will need?” he asked.

“Without a doubt,” Prometheus replied. “With the data from my fight, my already near perfect algorithms can guide me through a fight with any speedster. The Flash’s powers are effectively nullified as far as I’m concerned. The helmet will fire my synapses as needed so that my body will be untouchable to anything the Flash can do to me.”

“Excellent. And the sample?”

Prometheus handed the baton over to the old man, who in turn handed it off to the only other person in the pocket dimension. The leather clad sadist gratefully took the weapon with a small chuckle, which was nearly the loudest sound he could make. His sewn lips would keep him from spilling laughter, conversation, or secrets ever again.

“Murmur,” the old man said. “You know what to do with this.”

With wide eyes, Murmur removed the needle from the baton, which also extracted a small vial from the interior of the weapon. A small amount of blood jostled inside the vial, much to Murmur’s muffled delight. He took the vial and disappeared behind a stack of equipment.

“I’ll thank you not to pair me with that creep in the field,” Prometheus said.

“You’ll do as I order you,” the elder shot back, but there was no malice in his voice. It was just a spoken observation.

“Or what? You’ll do me like you did McCullough?”

The elder was about to respond, but his eyes locked onto one of the many mirrors instead, causing him to pause. Behind the mirror, which was more translucent than it was reflective, he could see his captive. A sub-dimension of their current residence, his prisoner would be forced to watch their activities and be aware of their actions, yet be powerless to stop them. Especially since he had lost his speed.

Johnny Quick ground his teeth in frustration as he returned the gaze of the old man.

Next Issue: We leap twenty years into the future to follow another speedster that has connections to our current tale!