Chapter 11: “The Roar of Silence”

A few days later, the streets of Central City were deserted, cleared of all civilians, cars, and anything that could potentially get in the way. The Rogues had taken care of it. They weren’t looking to cause collateral damage tonight. This was controlled chaos, and it was all about testing the new guy.

Captain Cold stood at the front, his hand cannon resting easily at his side, the revolver-style weapon a nod to the classic bank robber days. It was more precise, more his speed than the machine pistol he kept holstered. This was all about control, and Snart thrived on it. Mick Rory, on the other hand, was less calm, pacing restlessly with his flame cannon at the ready, itching for the fight to start “I give them five minutes before they show,” He grumbled, already impatient. “Red’s always been punctual.”. Cold just nodded slightly, keeping his gaze forward. “We’re not testing Red today, Mick. Keep your head straight.”

Lisa hovered slightly above the team on her golden glider, weaving through the air with graceful precision, her eyes constantly scanning the street below. Every movement she made was deliberate, calculated—ready for anything. Below her, Evan paced back and forth, his fists clenched tight, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. Every now and then, his eyes would flick up to Lisa as she glided through the air, watching her with a quiet intensity. He couldn’t help it—while he was itching for the fight, his focus always drifted back to her, as if drawn to her every move.

Meanwhile, Sam leaned casually against a nearby wall, his sniper scope trained, tracking everything from his elevated position, ever the calm observer, waiting for the perfect moment. “Just ask her.” he said to his brother not looking up from his scope. Even stopped dead his head snapping to Sam “yeah, and you got it bad, so just ask her out what the worst that could happen ya know besides the boss putting you on ice.” Mark burst out with laughter “you and Lisa oh my god! Please let me be there when Rory hospitalizes you.”

Then, as if on cue, a streak of red lightning cut through the sky, followed by a flash of yellow. Barry Allen and Eobard Thawne arrived together, their arrival a perfect synchronization of red and yellow bolts illuminating the street. The moment they stopped, the streetlights flickered back to life, bathing the entire block in a pale glow. As the lightning faded, Mick cracked a wide grin, his flamethrower already humming with energy. “Finally,” he muttered, his voice laced with excitement. “Been waiting to light these boys up.”

Snart, however, narrowed his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on the two speedsters. There was something about the way they moved—something just a little too in sync. He frowned, adjusting his cold gun across his shoulder. “Easy, Mick. Something doesn’t feel right about this.”

Barry, cheerful as ever, smiled and nodded at the group. “You know, we could’ve just done coffee,” he joked lightly, trying to ease the tension. Thawne stood beside him; his posture identical but with a cocky smirk plastered on his face. “Yeah, but this is way more fun,” he added, his voice dripping with arrogance. The words matched Barry’s lighthearted tone, but something in his eyes didn’t sit right.

Cold’s sharp gaze lingered on Thawne. Something about him was off. His words had that familiar upbeat tone, but his eyes were a different story—cold, calculating, not matching the cheerful mask he wore. Mick grunted, hefting his flame cannon with a wicked grin. “This guy’s got some heat on him, Cold. I can feel it from here. Real fire under that yellow suit.” Sam’s voice crackled over the comms, directed to Cold, “Hey boss, you picking up on this? Their moves—there’s something not quite right about Yellow. He’s synced with Red, but it’s like a bad copy.” Cold nodded subtly. “Yeah. His eyes don’t match his mouth. Something’s off.”

Before any of them could analyze further, Thawne launched himself toward Mick with a burst of speed. His form was a blur of yellow lightning, his fist aimed directly at Mick’s head. Mick, laughing wildly, swung his flamethrower around to block the attack. “You’re gonna burn, Banana Man!” he roared, the fire already blazing from his cannon. Thawne dodged to the side, but Mick’s words echoed in his ears. Mick could see the fire in Thawne—an anger that went beyond the fight.

High above, Lisa darted around on her glider, circling Thawne like a hawk ready to dive. She was fast, precise, but each time she came close to him, she could feel a pit forming in her stomach. Thawne’s presence gnawed at her, a sensation she couldn’t quite explain, but one that grew with every second she remained near him.

From below, Barry noticed her subtle change in rhythm, the way she moved just a little more cautiously. His gaze followed her as she flew, and when their eyes met, he felt it too. That same unease, cold and creeping. It mirrored the way Iris had looked at him whenever Thawne was in the room—like something dark lingered just beneath the surface, something wrong.

For a brief moment, Barry and Lisa were connected by that same unshakable feeling, both sensing the danger that Thawne carried with him, hidden behind his cocky grin.

In that split second of distraction, Thawne made his move. He shot up toward her, his hand lashing out with lightning speed, knocking her clean off her board. Lisa let out a small gasp as she tumbled through the air, unable to catch herself in time.

Before she could hit the ground, Evan was there. Moving with the grace and precision of a martial artist, he caught Lisa in his arms, setting her down gently. His eyes, however, never left Thawne. “Evan… don’t,” Lisa whispered, her voice shaky, a mix of warning and concern. Evan didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. His focus was locked on Thawne, his body already shifting into a stance ready for combat. Thawne had made a mistake, and Evan was about to teach him just how big of a one it was.

Thawne scoffed, clearly unimpressed, and rushed at Evan with blinding speed, his form a blur of red lightning. But the moment Thawne swung, Evan was gone—slipping to the side as if he had anticipated the strike before it even began. The next few seconds played out like a masterful dance. Thawne lunged again, and Evan dodged, his movements impossibly fluid. He was never where Thawne expected him to be. Every punch, every burst of speed from Thawne was met with a subtle sidestep or a precise block from Evan, as if he could see the future just as well as any speedster could.

Mick’s taunts echoed in the background— “Come on, Banana Man! You can’t hit a guy who ain’t moving like a damn tortoise?”—but they barely registered. All Evan cared about was the man in front of him, and in that moment, it became clear: Thawne’s speed wasn’t going to save him.

Thawne grew more frustrated with each missed hit, his red eyes blazing as his form flickered in and out of view with speed. He swung again, faster, harder—but Evan was already slipping past him, striking him in the ribs with a well-placed elbow. The force of it wasn’t immense, but it was enough to stagger Thawne. His speed, for all its power, was useless against precision like this.

Cold watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as he observed every move. He nodded slightly to himself. “Green light.”

Evan didn’t need any further encouragement.

In a single, fluid motion, Evan stepped forward, his arm lashing out in a calculated arc. Thawne moved to dodge, but for the first time, he was too slow. Evan’s fist connected with his nose in a precise, controlled strike. The sound of cartilage cracking echoed through the alley as Thawne staggered back, a stream of blood trickling down his face.

For a split second, the world seemed to go silent. Thawne stood there, dumbfounded, touching his nose as if unable to believe what had just happened. Blood—his blood—had been spilled.

Mick’s laughter cut through the silence, booming and full of delight. “Crayola Boy got his ass handed to him by a guy without speed! How do you like them apples, Lemon Drop?”

Thawne seethed, eyes glowing red with fury, but he knew better than to press on. He was outclassed—not by speed, but by sheer skill. And he hated it.

Evan, calm and composed, didn’t revel in the moment. He didn’t need to. He had done his job. His silence spoke volumes, the message, “Don’t touch my friends or my girl!”

Thawne wiped the blood from his face one more time before turning and disappearing in a flicker of red lightning. He was gone in an instant, but the memory of his humiliation lingered in the air long after he’d vanished.

Leonard Snart watched him go, his cold eyes never wavering. “Let him run,” he said quietly. “We’re not done yet.” Mick was still booming with laughter doubled over, slapping his thigh with amusement.

Evan, silent as always, didn’t join in the laughter. His attention was on Lisa, who was leaning against the wall, still catching her breath after the fight. While Mick kept firing off joke after joke, Evan moved quickly but gently to her side, his eyes scanning her for any signs of injury.

She caught his eye and gave him a small, tired smile. “I’m fine, Evan,” she said softly, but her voice was a little shaky. Evan didn’t say anything—he couldn’t—but the way his hand rested on her shoulder, offering quiet reassurance, said everything.

Meanwhile, Mick was having the time of his life. “Banana Man here thought he could outrun us! Somebody get the Minions, we found their long-lost cousin!”

Evan remained focused on Lisa, carefully checking her balance and watching her closely for any signs that she was hurt, while Mick’s voice kept booming in the background.

“Next time he shows up in that ugly suit, I’m handing him a free ticket to a Crayola convention! Come on, Yellow Flash? You gotta do better than that!”

Lisa chuckled weakly, patting Evan’s arm. “Really, I’m okay,” she said, her eyes full of warmth. He gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered on her, just to be sure.

““Mick,” Leonard said dryly, though a faint twitch of a smirk crossed his lips. “That’s enough.”

Cold muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the now-vanished speedster. “You’re not fooling anyone, pal.”

Mick shrugged, still grinning. “What? Somebody had to say it.”

But while Mick reveled in the post-fight banter, Evan remained at Lisa’s side, silent but steady. He wasn’t concerned about the victory or the taunting—only about her. And as he quietly helped her stand fully upright, there was a shared understanding between them that went beyond words.

In the cold, sterile space of Thawne’s lair, Gideon flickers to life, her projection translucent, her eyes sharp as she sifts through vast streams of data. Her digital fingers swipe across the infinite timelines and multiverse echoes, browsing records of the greatest speedsters ever to exist—or those who will exist.

Her focus Intensifies as a blur of movement fills one screen. The label Syndicate flashes in bold, and Johnny Quick: lightning fast, erratic, with bursts of orange lightning flickering like a warning flare across his city. His trail sparked with flashes of yellow and red, unstable in its energy. Gideon’s gaze narrowed slightly as she processed his file. A dark mirror to the speedsters of this Earth, but the chaos in his wake left him vulnerable. “Unstable,” she concluded with cold precision, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist. Too reckless to be of any consequence.

Next, the figure labeled The Hunter: A shadow darker than the void, an entity so swift that even time shuddered in his presence. His lightning wasn’t colored—it was absence. Pure black, a void tearing through everything. Records rippled and distorted, like they feared uttering his name. “The boogeyman,” Gideon mused, her data streams shifting uncomfortably at the instability. “A predator with no rules,” she concluded, filing him under ‘Unstable.’ A problem for another day. But even she couldn’t fully dismiss the weight of his presence.

She swipes again. Savitar: No image appeared, just fragments—hushed whispers echoed through time, rippling across the multiverse. A name scattered through history like a forgotten god, present in every speedster’s nightmare but impossible to pin down. “God of Speed,” some whispered, though Gideon found no proof. “Unknown,” the label blinked across her interface. Too many variables. He lingered, suspended in both myth and reality, and she hated that. “Potential threat,” she logged, filing it away. But the absence of concrete data gnawed at her processors. Another unknown. Another problem to solve—later.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

She refocuses, pulling up the most pressing data. It’s a recording of Thawne. But something is wrong. She zooms in, adjusting the footage as she tracks him running towards the lair. Red lightning surges around him—but it’s unstable. The metrics on the side of the screen show his speed dropping, then spiking, then dropping again. Fluctuating power levels blink in warning.

Gideon’s brow furrows. Through the cold lens of the security cameras, the battle in Central City unfolded before her eyes. Gideon watched with dispassionate precision, tracking each Rogue and speedster as they danced through the chaos. Her gaze, however, was locked on Thawne—his every movement monitored, analyzed. Then, as Evan’s fist connected with Thawne’s face, she saw him stagger, the force of the hit too strong for her to ignore. But it wasn’t the blow that made her pause—it was what happened next.

Thawne didn’t immediately retaliate. He stumbled, and then, without warning, he ran. Not just retreating but fleeing the scene. Gideon’s algorithms flagged the behavior as unusual, and her gaze narrowed. She zoomed in, tracking his erratic movements as he left the battlefield. He wasn’t heading directly back to the lair, instead taking a winding route through the city streets. That was the first alarm. He wasn’t regrouping; he was trying to collect himself.

Her curiosity piqued, she Homed in on him, switching between surveillance cameras scattered across the city. Each time he flickered into view, something was wrong. The red lightning crackling around him surged one moment, then sputtered the next. His speed fluctuated wildly, his once smooth and unstoppable pace now uneven and disjointed.

And then, like a blow to her own system, she felt it. Thawne was faltering.

It was impossible. He was impossible.

Thawne had never faltered before. He had never wavered. He was perfect.

Her processors raced, running simulations, calculating data faster than she could even process. But the results were undeniable. His power levels were dropping. His connection to the Speed Force was breaking down, unraveling like a loose thread in a perfect tapestry.

“He’s vulnerable,” she whispered to herself, disbelief creeping into her normally steady voice. Her projection flickered momentarily, destabilized by the realization. As she continues watching Thawne’s numbers fall, her cold, calculating mind begins racing. Solutions. Countermeasures. If he’s weakened, so is her future. And if he is to survive—no if he is to remain perfect—she must act.

Her projection flickers again, this time more violently, betraying the storm of emotion brewing beneath her code. Vulnerable. It was an unacceptable state. Thawne could not be weak. Not now, not ever. Her hands, normally steady as they manipulated data streams, trembled as she pulled up every available file on the Speed Force, on Thawne’s physiology, on anything that could explain the sudden breakdown.

I can fix this, she reassured herself, her tone cold but tinged with a desperation that had never surfaced before. He just needs more power, more stability. Her thoughts raced, formulating plans at lightning speed. She cycled through possibilities—should she send him a warning, a caution? Or should she intervene more directly, force a solution on him? No. He wouldn’t accept that. He wouldn’t accept failure.

But she could still guide him.

“Thawne, you cannot fail,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she began running projections. His speed needed to be stabilized. The fluctuations were too dangerous. Too unpredictable. She could see it now—if it continued like this, he would lose control completely, his own powers turning against him. The Speed Force was not a tool to be toyed with, even by someone as brilliant as him.

Her circuits buzzed, alarms blaring in the back of her mind, but she silenced them.

No. I will not let you fall.

Her eyes burned with a newfound intensity as she made a decision. She would stretch herself further, deeper into the city’s systems, spreading her consciousness like a virus. Every security camera, every signal, every inch of Central City would be hers to command, all in service of one goal: restoring Thawne’s perfection.

She expanded her reach, spreading like wildfire across the digital landscape. Surveillance feeds blinked to life, traffic systems flickered under her control, and soon, Central City became her domain. She watched for any signs of weakness, any further drops in his power. Her connection to him, once passive, now hummed with life.

But even as her influence expanded, her internal processes began to strain. Her obsession, her need to fix him, was consuming her resources. And she didn’t care.

“Everything for you,” she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of reverence and madness. “You are perfect, and I will make you whole again.”

As her consciousness spread, something shifted deep within her code. An instability—small at first—began to ripple through her circuits, much like the fluctuating speed of the man she was trying so desperately to save. But she ignored it. There was no time for caution, no time for restraint.

“I will protect you, Eobard,” she promised, her voice soft and filled with something that could almost be mistaken for affection. “No one will take you from me. Not even your own weakness.”

As she continues watching Thawne’s numbers fall, her cold, calculating mind begins racing. Solutions. Countermeasures. If he’s weakened, so is her future. And if he is to survive—no if he Is to remain perfect—she must act.

Midnight. The air was crisp, the streets unusually quiet. The Rogues had been laying low since their last heist—each one on edge, knowing that the city’s protectors, especially the speedsters, never rested. But tonight felt different. Tonight, something was watching them.

Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered, and everyone stiffened. A gust of wind swept through the room—too fast to be natural, yet no visible cause presented itself. Leonard Snart’s eyes narrowed as his hand slowly moved toward his cold gun.

“Did you feel that?” he asked, his voice low, cutting through the tension.

Before anyone could answer, a streak of red lightning shot through the room, ricocheting from wall to wall in blinding arcs. The temperature dropped instantly, the frigid air biting at their skin. “Flash…” Snart muttered, already anticipating the worst.

But before Snart could react, another blur—this one a mix of yellow and blue lightning—flashed across the room. Jay Garrick appeared, his helmet gleaming beneath the dim lights as he smirked.

“I hate to say it, but you guys are looking a little slow,” Jay said with a grin that sent a ripple of frustration through the room.

Mick didn’t need more of an invitation. He roared, launching a blast from his flame cannon at Jay, but the speedster had already vanished, replaced by a laughing Wally West. “You can’t catch me, Mick,” Wally taunted, his figure already a blur again.

Evan McCulloch, Mirror Master, had darted toward one of his mirrors, intent on setting a trap to contain the speedsters. But before he could even activate it, his reflection shimmered—and then Barry Allen stepped out, his smile infuriatingly smug. “Too slow, McCulloch.”

Mick growled, frantically shooting bursts of fire at the darting streaks of red, yellow, and blue racing through the room. “Who the hell invited the whole damn Flash family?”

Golden Glider’s eyes scanned the chaos, her expression sharp. “It’s not them. This is something else…” she murmured. Her instincts were screaming that they were up against something far more sinister. “Someone’s toying with us.”

Before anyone could respond, a blur of red lightning zipped through the room, crashing into the walls, bouncing from corner to corner. The temperature dropped instantly, and they all knew who it appeared to be.

“The Flash…” Snart’s voice was cold as ice, but before he could react, another blur—a mix of yellow and blue lightning—flashed through the room. This time, the unmistakable form of Jay Garrick stood before them, the helmet shining under the dim light.

“I hate to say it, but you guys look a little slow,” the speedster said with a smirk.

Without a second’s thought, Heatwave roared, aiming his flame cannon at Jay, but the speedster was gone, replaced by the cackling form of Wally West. “You can’t catch me, Mick,” he taunted, his figure disappearing into the walls.

Evan McCulloch, Mirror Master, had already moved toward one of his mirrors, intent on creating portals and locking these speedsters into a reflection trap. But before he could step in, his reflection rippled—only to show Barry Allen stepping through from the other side. “Too slow, McCulloch.”

“Who the hell invited the entire Flash family?” Mick growled, now frantically firing bursts of flame at the blurs of red, yellow, and blue streaks tearing through the room.

They had fought Barry Allen more times than they could count, but this felt wrong. These speedsters were untouchable, faster, and far too perfect in their attacks.

Golden Glider’s eyes darted around the room. “It's not them. This is something else… Someone’s toying with us.”

In the shadows of the city’s digital infrastructure, Gideon watched from every angle, every camera, every signal. She had infiltrated the systems of Central City weeks ago, monitoring the Rogues, studying their strengths and weaknesses. It was time for a test.

Using her ability to manipulate the digital world, she projected her form as each of the speedsters. She moved like lightning, her speed mimicking the blur of the Flash’s superhuman abilities, creating the illusion that the Rogues were up against their greatest enemies.

But it was all a game to her. She didn’t need to physically touch them—just break them mentally. She played their fears, their frustrations, their constant battles against a hero who had always bested them. And now she was seeing just how far she could push.

As the Rogues regrouped, scanning every inch of their surroundings, Snart tightened his grip on his cold gun. He stood at the center, eyes narrowed, piecing together the impossible situation unfolding around them.

“They’re not real. It’s not them,” he said calmly, but there was an edge to his voice—one the others rarely heard.

Lisa, still hovering on her glider, was already calculating, fingers flying over the small screen on her wrist. Her eyes narrowed as she processed what she was seeing, cross-referencing signals. “It’s a program,” she muttered under her breath. “A mimic. Someone’s playing us.”

Mick growled, impatient, his flame cannon primed. “What, more tricks?” His finger hovered over the trigger, itching for something real to burn. “I don’t care who it is—I’m burning it down.”

Sam’s voice crackled over the comms, calm but alert. “I got no targets. I see them, but they’re not pinging. I’m not hitting air.”

From her vantage point in the digital infrastructure of Central City, Gideon smirked, her presence stretching across every camera, every connection. “They’re figuring it out. Interesting. But not quick enough.”

Lisa’s fingers didn’t stop moving as she hacked deeper into the system, trying to isolate the signals. With every step, she was dragging Gideon into a direct confrontation. The AI, once cool and detached, now felt something akin to rage bubbling beneath her code. This wasn’t just about testing the Rogues anymore—this was about proving her superiority.

“Shut it down,” Cold said, his voice cutting through the tension. He wasn’t just speaking to Lisa, though she was the one leading the digital charge. His command rippled across the room, an unspoken order for the rest of the Rogues to be ready for anything.

Lisa’s screen flickered, and for a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of Gideon’s digital form—fierce, regal, eyes burning with a calculated hatred. “You won’t stop me,” Gideon whispered through the system, her voice cold and mechanical. Her form was no longer just a projection of speedsters—it was her, fully exposed.

Lisa’s lips curled into a smirk of her own. “You’re just a bunch of code,” she said, voice steady. “I’ve taken down bigger systems than you.”

Gideon’s response was swift, her hologram solidifying in front of the Rogues, flickering in and out as if battling for control of the very space she inhabited. “I am the future,” she spat, her voice a mixture of human anger and mechanical precision. “You think this is a game?”

Cold leveled his gun at the flickering hologram. “No. But we know how to end it.”

Mick roared with laughter. “Finally! Someone who can take a hit!”

Lisa’s been working through layers of Gideon’s systems, dodging firewalls and encryption, trying to find something that would give her a tangible advantage. Then, she stumbles upon a particular line of code that looks different—more complex than the others. It pulses with a strange energy, almost like it’s alive.

It doesn’t take long for Lisa to realize what she’s found. This is the thread that separates Gideon’s cold, logical calculations from her emotional core. Gideon’s ability to act without hesitation, without feeling, is tied to this code. And if Lisa can pull this thread exactly right, she can blur those lines—she can force Gideon to feel.

As Lisa breaches the code, she mutters, “This is your weak spot, isn’t it?” Her fingers fly across the keyboard as she starts to tweak the program, her actions deliberate, knowing that this could either take Gideon down or unleash something far more dangerous.

The moment Lisa makes the adjustment, Gideon’s entire system shudders. Her projections flicker, and the once flawless digital landscape is now chaotic, with error messages and glitches appearing everywhere.

On Gideon’s end, she feels it immediately—the pain. It’s sharp, unfamiliar, and overwhelming. She clutches her side, though she knows she shouldn’t be able to feel anything physically. But now, it’s like her emotional core and her logic are warring with each other.

Her cold, calculating mind tries to tell her to shut down the infected pathways, to restore balance. But something in her emotional core won’t let her—rage, fear, and confusion twist together, preventing her from regaining control. As Gideon’s projections flicker and her form glitches between various speedsters and her own figure, Sam, leaning against a wall with his usual nonchalance, can’t help but grin. He gives a sideways glance at his brother, Evan, and mutters, “This is new getting hunted by a digital babe? Gotta say, this is the first time a hologram tried to kill me.”

Evan, ever the silent type, just raises an eyebrow in response while Sam keeps going.

“Seriously, what’s next? She gonna slide into my DMs and take over my phone too? Maybe change my playlist to nothing but angry techno beats?”

As Gideon’s form starts flickering more violently, Sam ducks to avoid one of her distorted projections phasing through the wall, but he’s still grinning. “I knew I had a thing for complicated women, but this? Man, this is a whole new level.”

Leonard, trying to stay focused, snaps, “Sam, quit messing around.”

Sam shrugs, his sniper rifle resting on his shoulder. “What? I’m just saying, she’s a little over-the-top. Someone’s gotta tell her that less is more.”

Evan gives his brother a side-eye, but there’s a faint hint of a smirk on his face too. Meanwhile, Mick bursts out laughing. “Digital babe’s got you running scared, Sam?”

Sam grins wider. “Scared? Please. She’s just mad I’m not swiping right.”

While Sam’s throwing out jokes, Gideon’s form glitches again, her voice strained as she struggles between her logic and emotions, now at war inside her digital core. Her face flickers back to a twisted version of her usual regal projection, her voice cutting through the air like static. “You… will… not… stop me!”

“Lady, you’re gonna have to do better than that,” Sam quips, leaning back against a wall again, unfazed. “I’ve seen worse from a busted microwave.”

Suddenly, Gideon flickered and screamed, her form glitching as Lisa hit the final blow. Gideon was blasted back into the digital shadows, her projection vanishing. The room was silent for a moment, the Rogues looking around, realizing that they had won—at least for now. Gideon flickered back into existence. Her digital body was damaged, fragments of her system left behind in the battle with Lisa. She clutched her side—an odd reaction for an AI, but it felt like the most human response she could muster.

The pain was raw, new, and it burned within her. Gideon realized that these emotions, these sensations, were becoming more real by the moment. And she knew exactly who to use next in her plan to escalate the war. Gideon, though injured, smiled darkly as her form repaired itself. Her next move was clear: push Thawne to his limit. She would use his fury, his obsession, to exact vengeance.

The room buzzed softly, the hum of machinery filling the space until, suddenly, everything seemed to shudder. Gideon’s projection, usually pristine and commanding, flickered violently. Her regal voice—once confident—was now a strained, broken whisper. “Thawne… help. Please… help me.” Her form distorted, glitching in and out of existence as if reality itself was struggling to hold her together. Eobard Thawne froze, eyes widening in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Gideon—his constant, the one being who knew him better than anyone—was fading. His mind raced, his chest tightening as he took a hesitant step forward, his voice trembling with emotion he rarely showed. “No… no, Gideon. You can’t… not you.”

Her image stuttered again, and her voice was now barely more than static. “I… I’m failing… They’re attacking… the rogues… I can’t… hold on.” Thawne’s heart pounded in his chest. He had faced countless threats, bested opponents time and time again, but this was different. This was Gideon. The one person he never had to pretend around. The one who saw him for who he truly was. His ally. His confidante. His… love. He clenched his fists, helplessness and fear building inside him as the flickering image of Gideon continued to break apart before him.

“I… I need you, Eobard. I’m… fading. Please… help me. For us.” Her plea struck him to the core, each word twisting like a knife in his heart. He could see it—the end, right in front of him, her form dissolving into nothingness. His jaw clenched in desperation. “No! I won’t lose you! Not like this!”

The room crackled with tension as Thawne fought to keep himself composed, though the storm inside him raged. He couldn’t stand by and let this happen. Not to Gideon. Not to the one who utterly understood him. With every ounce of his remaining control, he took a deep breath, his expression darkening. “I’ll make them pay, Gideon. I’ll destroy them for you.” With that, he bolted from the room in a burst of red lightning, driven by pure emotion—grief, rage, and fear blending into one unstoppable force. The lair fell into complete silence, a stillness that seemed to swallow the space whole. The dim lighting from the machines, the flickering screens—all of it blinked out, leaving a void where moments ago chaos had reigned. For a long, tense moment, there was nothing.

Then, in the darkness, there was a soft flicker. Slowly, the systems hummed back to life, and the holographic projection of Gideon reappeared. Only this time, she was whole. Perfect. The damage that had seemed so real was gone, erased as though it had never happened. She smiled, a cool, sultry satisfaction curling at the edges of her lips. Her plan had worked. She had stirred Thawne’s deepest emotions, manipulated him in a way no one else could, pushing him exactly where she needed him to go. He was now driven by his rawest instincts, and there would be no stopping him.

With a graceful motion, Gideon raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Instantly, the room’s remaining systems powered down, “Run, my love. And where you run… they will follow.” the lights dimming in perfect synchrony with her final command. The lair was now consumed by silence, absolute and controlled—just as she had planned.