The sharp blare of the bank alarm shattered the stillness of the early morning. Inside, masked robbers stormed through the entrance, brandishing weapons and yelling orders, their voices full of aggression and panic. Customers, wide-eyed and terrified, huddled in the corner, holding their breath as the robbers demanded cash from the tellers. The air was thick with fear.
Outside, unnoticed amidst the chaos, Eobard Thawne stood across the street, his lips curving into a small smile. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, a hunger for what came next. He had orchestrated this perfectly. Everything was going according to plan.
In an instant, Eobard was gone, a streak of red lightning that tore through the bank like a silent storm. The robbers didn’t even have time to react as he disarmed them with surgical precision. One moment, they held weapons, their faces twisted with aggression. The next, their hands were empty, their expressions morphing into shock as Eobard zipped between them, dismantling their plans with practiced ease.
Every move was deliberate, almost theatrical, as if he were performing for an audience only, he could see. He moved too quickly to be seen, but every disarmed gun, every perfectly placed blow, was part of his choreography.
As the last gun hit the floor, one of the robbers managed to lift his head, just in time to catch a glimpse of Eobard’s face beneath the shadow of his hood. Time seemed to slow in that moment. The robber’s gaze locked onto Eobard’s eyes—blazing red, unnatural, filled with a fury that wasn’t meant for this room. The glow, an unintentional byproduct of his speed, sent a jolt of terror through the robber’s body. He froze, unable to tear his eyes away.
For the briefest second, Eobard’s perfect performance cracked. His red eyes flared, betraying the calm exterior he had so carefully crafted. And in that split second, he felt a surge of anger at himself. A slip. An error. He couldn’t afford mistakes like this. Not now.
Eobard’s jaw clenched for a moment, but then, as quickly as the fury had appeared, it was gone. His expression softened into an almost reassuring smile, and his eyes dimmed back to normal. “Just someone lending a hand,” he said, his voice calm, almost kind, as if he hadn’t just been filled with the kind of rage that could freeze a man in his tracks.
Before the robber—or anyone else—could ask any more questions, he vanished. In a blur of red lightning, he was gone, disappearing into the wind as the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. The room was left in stunned silence, broken only by the shallow breaths of those who had witnessed the impossible.
As the news of the mysterious new speedster spread like wildfire, FlashSpace Messenger—Central City’s go-to platform for all things speedster—was flooded with messages, theories, and awe-struck reactions.
Sarah M.: “He stopped a robbery and saved a cat from a tree today! He’s unreal!”
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As Sarah’s message appeared, the screen transitioned to a visual of Eobard in action, his red lightning streaking up a tall tree in a park. A little girl stood at the base, eyes wide with amazement as Eobard swiftly handed her the cat, who let out a soft meow of relief. The girl squealed with joy as he vanished in a flash.
Tommy R.: “Does anyone else find him… too good to be true? Like, what’s his angle?”
Wally West, seated in his cluttered bedroom, stared at his screen, his third box of pepperoni, extra cheese, and jalapeños forgotten beside him. His fingers flew over the keyboard, navigating through the flood of comments and videos. “A lot of talk,” he murmured, frowning at Tommy’s post. “But something doesn’t sit right. The way this new speedster moves… it’s almost too perfect.”
He leaned back, glancing at the clock. This wasn’t just another speedster; it felt like a challenge. He needed answers.
Emily T.: “OMG, like, he is sooo totally cute! 😍🔥 I can’t even!
#NewFlashCrush #SpeedsterBae”
Amidst the flood of excitement, there were pockets of skepticism.
Chris P.: “I don’t trust him. Something about the way he moves… it’s not the same. No one is that perfect.”
Jordan K.: “Right? It’s like he’s showing off. It doesn’t feel real.”
As the social media chatter grew, so did the speculation. Some users were already drawing connections, weaving theories about this new speedster’s origins, many eerily close to the truth without realizing it.
Aliyah T.: “What if he’s not from this timeline? Think about it—he’s too smooth, like he’s done all this before.”
“Good evening, Central City. Tonight’s top story: the emergence of a new speedster, who has taken the city by storm. From robberies to rescues, this mysterious figure has been seen all over town.”
Iris West, sitting at her desk at the Central City Gazette, listened intently as she sifted through reports. Her brow furrowed as she scrolled through article after article. “He’s not like Barry. Not like the others,” she whispered to herself, her fingers dancing over the keyboard.
The broadcast continued, cutting to footage of Eobard racing through the city, his red lightning leaving a vibrant streak against the twilight sky. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.
“John K.: I’ve seen those eyes—flaming red, like a demon’s! He’s no hero; he’s a Lizard Man from Mars!”
Iris felt a chill run down her spine as she read the comment. Could there be truth to that? She pulled up a photo of Eobard, focusing on his intense gaze. “What are you hiding?” she muttered, determination setting in.
Across town, seasoned veteran Jay Garrick spoke with a shaken witness near the scene of one of Eobard’s latest rescues. “Yeah, he saved me, but… something wasn’t right. His eyes—they weren’t human.”
Jay nodded, his expression hardening. This wasn’t the first time he’d encountered an extraordinary speedster, but this one felt different. The more he dug, the more off everything seemed. “What did he look like?” he pressed.
“He glowed, like fire,” the witness replied, trembling. Jay’s heart raced; this wasn’t just another hero. It felt darker.
Finally, at STAR Labs, Barry Allen stood in front of a display of crime scene photos and evidence. His eyes drifted to the ring sitting on the table before him—the one Eobard had left behind. “He’s trying to send me a message,” Barry murmured, his fingers turning the ring over in his hand. It looked just like his own ring—almost, but not quite.
The more he stared at It, the more personal it felt. And the more personal it was, the more dangerous it became. Barry’s thoughts raced—was this new speedster a friend or a foe?
As the city buzzed with speculation, Eobard stood atop a building, surveying the chaos below. His red lightning flickered in the twilight, barely visible. A small, satisfied smirk spread across his face.
“I’m just getting started.”