The Rogues exchanged glances—there was no arguing with Snart’s decision. Central City was their playground, their battleground. It was time to return.
As the Rogues made their way back to Central City, their first order of business was information. They weren’t going to rush in blind—not when there was a new player in town. Snart knew better than that. They’d lay low for now, relying on their network of contacts to piece together who this new speedster was.
“Let’s split up,” Snart said, his voice as cold as ever. “We need to find out what we’re dealing with. Start asking around. No stirring up trouble. Not yet.” Mick Rory stepped into the grimy bar like he owned the place, the familiar smell of sweat and cheap booze hitting him as the door swung shut behind him. His shoulders relaxed, and the tension that had been building during their months away melted. This was home. And there was no better way to settle back in than with a good bar fight.
“Lay low,” Snart’s voice echoed in the back of his head, but Mick shrugged it off.
He scanned the bar, eyes locking on a burly guy at the pool table. The man was lining up his shot, completely unaware of the walking inferno that had just stepped into the room. Mick sauntered over and planted himself in the guy’s line of sight, blocking the table.
“That’s my table,” Mick growled.
The man blinked in confusion before straightening up, his grip tightening on the pool cue. He looked Mick up and down, puffing out his chest. “You serious, man? You wanna go?”
Mick’s grin widened. “Hell yeah.”
And with that, he didn’t wait for the guy to make the first move. Mick’s fist flew without hesitation, landing square in the man’s face. The crack of knuckles against bone reverberated through the bar, and the guy hit the floor hard, his pool cue clattering to the ground.
The rest of the bar stood in stunned silence for half a second before the chaos erupted. Chairs flew, bottles shattered, and fists started swinging from every direction.
Mick was in his element. He moved through the brawl with practiced ease, sending bodies flying, dodging punches, and throwing his weight around like a wrecking ball. A chair came down toward his head, but he caught it mid-air and swung it back at its owner, sending the guy sprawling over a table. Mick’s booming laugh filled the room as he reveled in the mayhem.
Within minutes, the fight was over. The bar was wrecked—tables overturned, glass shattered, and most of the patrons either groaning on the floor or slumped in their chairs. Mick stood in the center of it all, breathing heavily, wiping a bit of blood from his knuckles.
“I love this town,” he said, grinning wide to no one in particular.
He turned to the bartender, who was crouched behind the bar, wide-eyed and trembling. Mick leaned over the counter, reaching past him to grab a bottle of whiskey off the shelf. “Alright,” he said, popping the cap and taking a long swig, “now that that’s outta the way—”
The bartender, shaking, stammered out, “I—I don’t know anything about any speedsters, man. Please, just—no trouble!”
Mick snorted, his grin fading into a look of mild annoyance. “Didn’t ask you yet.” He took another swig of whiskey and turned to leave, tucking the bottle under his arm. “Consider this on the house.”
As he stepped out of the bar, the door swinging shut behind him, Mick muttered to himself, “Yeah, I’m getting real good at this ‘lay low’ thing.”
Sam McCulloch was panting. Again.
“Seriously,” he muttered under his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “This is the fifth one today, and they still think we’re cops.”
He shot a glance at his brother, who was already disappearing into the shadows, silent as a wisp of smoke. Evan moved like he always did—swift and smooth, barely making a sound. Sam grumbled, watching as his brother easily vanished into an alley. It wasn’t fair. Evan made it look so effortless.
Sam, on the other hand, felt like his lungs were on fire. He’d always been good with a rifle, sharp-eyed and precise, but all this running around? Yeah, he wasn’t built for it anymore. He wasn’t a sniper in a cozy perch with a clear line of sight; he was pounding the pavement, and it was exhausting.
“Another one thinks we’re cops,” Sam muttered into his comms. “I’m so done with this.”
As he rounded a corner, he caught sight of their latest informant—a greasy-looking guy who had bolted the second they’d started asking questions. He was now huffing his way down the alley, glancing over his shoulder in panic. Sam sighed and slowed to a walk. He wasn’t about to chase anyone down. That was Evan’s job.
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And speak of the devil—Evan was already ahead of the guy, materializing from the shadows without a sound. He didn’t need fancy gadgets or weapons. Just his fists. And his movements were always precise. The informant skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over his own feet as Evan grabbed him by the collar, yanking him into a side alley. It was over before it even began.
Sam finally caught up, leaning against the brick wall as he caught his breath. He watched Evan drag the guy into a quieter spot, where no one could see them. “God, I wish I still had my rifle,” Sam muttered, running a hand through his hair. “This street-level stuff is killing me.”
The Informant was shaking, his eyes wide as he tried to pull away from Evan’s iron grip. Evan didn’t say a word, didn’t need to. The guy knew he was in trouble.
Sam groaned as he pushed off the wall, making his way over to them. “We’re not cops, genius,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance. “We just want some answers. Now, how about you save us both sometime and tell us what you know about the new speedster?”
The Informant, panicking, glanced between the two brothers. His eyes were drawn to Evan, the silent, intimidating presence beside him. “I—I don’t know anything, man, I swear!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” He crossed his arms, shooting a tired look at Evan. “You believe him?”
Evan didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. His fingers tightened just a little on the informant’s collar, and that was all it took. The guy’s eyes went wide, his words spilling out in a rush. “Okay! Okay, I’ve heard some stuff—there’s talk in the underground about this new guy. Fast, real fast, but no one knows who he is. He’s been laying low, just like you.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, glancing over at his brother. “Laying low, huh? That’s more like it.”
Evan released the informant, stepping back and letting him scramble away. The guy didn’t even look back, too eager to escape. Sam watched him disappear into the distance and let out a long sigh. “Why does this always feel like more work for me than it does for you?”
Evan, as usual, said nothing. He just gave Sam a small nod before fading back into the shadows. Sam shook his head with a tired smile. “Show off.”
Lisa Snart lounged lazily in the corner of a cozy café, her legs propped up on the table as she sipped from a large mug of coffee. The hum of her tablet filled the air, her fingers dancing across the screen with practiced ease. Goldie, her loyal AI companion, hovered nearby, chirping occasionally as she flicked through data feeds and surveillance footage.
A small, framed photo of Evan sat in the corner of her screen, half-hidden behind a stack of open windows. It wasn’t obvious, but it was there—always, just within view. She glanced at it for a brief moment, a soft smile touching her lips before turning her attention back to the task at hand.
“Alright, Goldie, let’s see what the CCPD is hiding,” Lisa muttered, her fingers typing away. The screen flickered as her program broke through the department’s security protocols, infiltrating their database. Goldie chirped excitedly, her little wings fluttering as she hovered over Lisa’s shoulder.
“You know, Goldie, they really need to upgrade their firewalls,” Lisa said with a smirk, her eyes flicking through the files she’d accessed. “I’m almost disappointed in them.”
Goldie let out a series of chirps, and Lisa chuckled. “Yeah, I know. It’s too easy. But we don’t want them to get smart now, do we?”
The café around her buzzed with quiet conversation, but Lisa remained in her own little world, focused on the data streaming in. The coffee mug at her side had gone cold, but she didn’t care. This was where she thrived—behind the scenes, orchestrating the chaos from the safety of her tech.
As she skimmed through CCPD’s surveillance reports, something caught her eye. “Bingo,” she whispered to herself, leaning closer to the screen. “What do we have here?”
Goldie hovered in excitement as Lisa zoomed in on the footage. “A new speedster, huh?” she murmured, her eyes narrowing. “This one’s been laying low… smart, but not smart enough.”
She flicked through a few more windows, gathering data from social media and underground channels she’d hacked into earlier. Her fingers flew across the screen, piecing together the puzzle.
With a satisfied smile, Lisa tapped a button on her tablet, sending the data to the rest of the Rogues. “Hey, boys, check this out,” she said over the comms, her voice light and playful. “I’ve got a hit on our mystery speedster. Looks like Central City’s about to get interesting.”
She glanced back at the photo of Evan, her smile softening just a little. “And don’t worry,” she added quietly, though he wasn’t there to hear her. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Barry Allen was sitting in Jitters, nursing his coffee and minding his own business, when Leonard Snart casually slid into the seat across from him. Barry blinked in surprise, his usual sharp instincts catching up slower than usual in the quiet café setting.
“Leonard?” Barry blurted out, half in disbelief. “What are you—”
Snart cut him off with a small, casual smile, leaning back in his chair as if he had all the time in the world. “Let’s talk, Care Bear. Just two old pals catching up. Nothing to worry about.”
Barry glanced around the café, suspicious of Snart’s calm demeanor. His eyes landed on Mark Mardon—Weather Wizard—sitting a few tables away, nonchalantly eating a muffin. Their eyes met, and Mark gave a lazy wave, like he wasn’t casually keeping Barry pinned in place.
Of course, Barry thought with a smirk. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “I should’ve known.”
Snart leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What can I say? I like to keep things… interesting.” He drummed his fingers on the table, his tone almost playful. “Now, how about you fill me in on the new guy running around our city?”
Barry’s eyes narrowed, but there was a smirk playing on his lips. He knew how this game went. “You want information, Len? What’s in it for me?”
Snart grinned, the familiar smirk that always meant he was enjoying himself. “Oh, come on, Barry. You know me. I don’t play for free, but I’m feeling generous today.” He gestured toward the café. “We’re just chatting, having a friendly conversation. No strings attached.”
Barry couldn’t help but laugh, despite the tension. “Right. Friendly conversation with you always has strings.”
Snart shrugged. “Maybe. But you and I both know we’re not here to fight.” He nodded toward Mardon, who was still lazily eating his muffin. “If we were, things would look a lot different.”
Barry leaned back, his expression softening a bit. Despite everything, there was a strange camaraderie between them. Snart wasn’t like other villains, and Barry knew it. There was always a code with Leonard, and as much as they butted heads, there was a mutual respect underneath it all.
Barry followed Snart’s gaze and saw Mark Mardon—Weather Wizard—casually sitting at a table across the café, nonchalantly eating a muffin. When their eyes met, Mark gave a friendly, almost lazy wave. Barry shook his head with a smirk. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. Cold leaned forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. “What can I say? I keep things… interesting. So, how about you fill me in on the new guy running around our city?” Barry’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t know who he is.”
For a brief second, Snart’s eyes lingered on Barry, searching, processing. Then, a genuine smile curled on his lips—one that Barry knew all too well. It wasn’t the smile of a man who was fooled. It was the smile of a man who was enjoying the chase.
Snart leaned back, the air between them charged with unspoken understanding. He tapped the table with his fingers and stood up slowly, taking his time. “Okay, Barry. Alright.” His voice was smooth, playful, and full of hidden meaning. “Catch me later.”
With that, Snart turned on his heel and walked out of the café, his smile lingering even as the door closed behind him. Barry sat back, a subtle tension still in the air. He knew Snart had caught on, but that was the thing about Leonard Snart: he’d never confront a lie head-on if he could turn it into something more interesting.
As Barry watched him leave, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, shaking his head. “Of course.”