Flash Photography #2: Force Entry

==Arkham Asylum: Guard Quarters==

 

"Let me see! Let me see!"

 

“Careful, you’re crumpling them!”

 

"Ooh, such wonderful emotions! Delicious, frozen expressions!"

 

Abner Krill’s face was pressed against the microwave, like a child’s at the zoo’s red panda exhibit, as he waited for his cocoa to be ready; the room was small, modest, and utilitarian, which had suited the Asylum Guards just fine in the past. Hayden and Billings had cornered their newest member, Mister Camera, and were clearly enjoying themselves as they perused through the shoebox he’d retrieved from the 'Bug House.' The microwave pinged, and Krill removed the steaming mug from inside.

Billings had spotted a particularly erotic photo from the pile and grabbed it, bearing a crooked smile as he rubbed his thumb across the edge. "My my, is that lace? That naughty little bug girl… Rather nicely composed too...”

 

Krill snorted from the sidelines, as he stirred a sixth spoonful of sugar into his hot cocoa. "You don't know dick about composition, you peg legged twat."

 

"I'm a filmmaker, Krill, an auteur, I picked up a few things,” Billings replied condescendingly.

 

"Mm. About filmmaking or alcoholism? 'Cause, didn't it bomb? Like, bomb so bad the suits sent you to rehab? Twice."

 

Billings spun around, photo still in hand. "Now, you listen here, you pimpled prat! That was entirely out of my hands!" he scowled, his face turning a deep scarlet. "The Society completely dicked me over! Class A censorship from small-nubbed pricks! If I was allowed to tell my vision-!"

 

"Stop it! You're dribbling alcohol onto them!" Sims clutched Billings arm, protecting his precious photos from Spellbinder’s spit.

 

The squeak of rubber on metal broke up the argument. The crackle of lightning kept it that way. Crane sat in the doorway, two tired, mismatched eyes and a downturned mouth peeking out from behind his burlap mask; Zoom stood behind him, fists balled. "Cease your juvenile ogling, you primitive pack of apes, you all have work to do," Crane chastised the group. They didn’t need to be told a second time; Sims exited first, carrying the shoebox under his arm; then Hayden, kicking the ground defiantly; Billings shuffled away last, wiping the rim of his flask with his cuff.

 

Zoom however, stayed rooted to the spot, his blurred gaze fixed on Krill. Crane stared at him suspiciously, then wheeled himself away.

 

"Yeah?" Krill eyed the Speedster expectantly, slurping his hot chocolate from an Arkham-Branded mug.

 

“I haaaaaaaaavea job foryooooooouuuuuuuu,” Zoom slurred. “Offthe record.”

 

Krill smirked back, a greedy glint in his eyes. "Will it pay?"

 

"Ohyes."

 

==GCPD==

 

A group of four entered the GCPD; security was lax as of late; with so many dead and even more injured, it was easy for Chuck, Gar, Joey and Bridget to slip in through the roof; Chuck went on ahead to check out the interrogation room and gather clues while the three pyros lingered by the cell block. Confused, Joey looked at Ted Carson, still held behind iron bars.

 

"Joker didn't want him?" he whispered to Gar, conscious not to upset Bridget.

 

"Would you?" Gar answered back coldly.

 

“Laugh it up, Bug Boys,” Carson growled at the duo. “I’ll get outta here, and I’ll kill you all.”

 

“Hn. And I thought some time to yourself would give you space to reflect,” Gar stared at him, flicking his lighter shut. “Guess I figured wrong.”

 

“Ah, but it did. ‘Cause now I know what to do. No more schemes. No more plans. No more lousy, two-faced partners. I’m just gonna burn it all down.”

 

Gar’s brow shifted slightly. “Good luck with that,” he scoffed, stepping aside. As he did so, Carson finally noticed his daughter. His jaw slackened, his eyes narrowed, his puffed-out chest deflated, at the sight of this final, crushing betrayal.

 

"Bridget?" he choked, struggling to process her presence.

 

Bridget fidgeted with her hands, avoiding her father’s gaze. "Dad..." she began to defend herself, but nothing came out. It probably wouldn’t have made a difference anyway.

 

"You're with them now, is that it?” Carson scowled. "Figures.”

 

Gar exhaled, stepping back in front of Bridget defensively. "You, are an idiot,” he remarked. “A big, shiny, Megazord of an idiot."

 

"Careful," Carson warned.

 

"Oh, please! If you were any sort of a husband or father, if you ever cared for your wife, for Bridget; for Jumbo for crying out loud, you'd have gone back to your family as soon as you'd woken up, when you were resurrected that very first time. Or the second time. Or the third. Or the fourth. But no, you just had to get revenge on your killer, on a drunk fuckin' driver, no matter what! You couldn't let it go that the great "Ted Carson" got punted 100 yards by Killer Moth in his bright purple Mothmobile. If that were me, if I had died, and somehow, through divine, demonic or whatever that crap was, intervention, I'd run back to my apartment, I would hold my little girl in my arms, and I would not let go. But look at you! You! You let yourself get so fucking consumed by vengeance that you let it all slip away.

 

Drury didn’t ruin your life. He didn’t destroy your family. By the way, he didn’t put you in Arkham either. You did that all on your own."

 

Finished, Gar stormed off, Joey in pursuit. Yet, despite every fibre of her being telling her not to, Bridget lingered by the door to her dad’s cell.

 

“Go on then,” Carson growled. “Run back to ‘daddy.’”

 

But Bridget didn’t. She couldn’t. Despite everything he’d said and done, despite her newfound loyalty to the Misfits…

 

He was still her father.

 

~-~

 

Chuck knelt beside an upturned table in the interrogation room, peeling off a scrap from an orange jumpsuit that had been caught on the edge. ‘Drury…’ he lamented quietly. Amongst the glass, and the trails of dried blood, he found something else; a single Joker card pinned to a sheet of A5 paper. The door behind him opened, signifying Gar and Joey’s arrival.

 

“Anything?” Gar asked, not expecting a whole lot.

 

"Looks like he left a note,” Chuck replied, noticing some writing on the back.

 

“What's it say?” Joey inquired.

 

Chuck cleared his throat, and began to read: "225g plain flour, two teaspoons bicarbonate of soda, ground ginger, a pinch of cinnamon, 75g unsalted butter, 100g soft brown sugar and 100g golden syrup. To decorate: one bar of dark chocolate, finely grated."

 

"I- I think it's a shopping list."

 

~-~

 

The group walked back the way they came, despondent over their lack of leads. Carson remained in his cell, but something had changed in his demeanour, an underlying quiet malice. Dragging behind, a voice called out to Chuck from the cell diagonal Carson’s. A cold, refined voice that Chuck had hoped he’d heard the last of:

 

"Charlie?"

 

Chuck turned around: Julian was standing by the bars, a quizzical expression on his face.

 

“You look healthy,” Chuck replied, perhaps a little more venomously than he had intended.

 

“Your poison has worked its' way out of my system, yes. As you can see, the GCPD is rather short staffed at the moment,” Julian observed, a slight, malicious smile on his face.

 

“That ‘poison’ is meant to help you, Julian,” Chuck responded. “You’re sick.”

 

“Yes, of oh so many things… You never understood Diaxymine, Charlie. It’s not a solution, it doesn’t suppress my darker half and worse impulses. It never did. It’s a flood. Drowning me in remorse. Burying me in sorrow and pity and regret. Is this how it is for you? For the Misfits? Knowing that despite how hard you try to better yourself, the things you’ve done, those terrible terrible things will stick with you, forever.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How can you bear it?” Julian inquired, in a tone that revealed an underlying pain.

 

“By trying my hardest, doing the best I can.”

 

“Then surely, you understand why I tried to free you from that burden? From that pain? To escape from that baggage and be your truest self?” Julian asked softly.

 

Chuck took a step towards the exit and opened it. “No,” he called back. “And I never will.”

 

==<???>==

 

Emerging from a kaleidoscopic vortex, Krill and his charge stepped forward onto weightless ground, only to be hit by a blinding wave of white light; They were standing in a void of white clouds, lit up by bolts of coloured lightning. The only sounds were the faint rumblings of thunder in the distance. Krill lowered his goggles over his eyes and began scanning for signs of life. "Thought you said this place was a prison?" he squinted.

 

Zoom looked out at the howling wilderness. "Itis."

 

Krill frowned. It didn't look like a prison. It looked like Cloud Cuckoo Land, and Zoom’s non-committal responses weren’t helping matters. He peeled a dot off his chest, and hurled into in the endless void, hoping it could find something his scanners couldn’t. They were standing in something elemental; Krill knew that much. Something ancient. Something ethereal.

 

Something wrong.

 

As they walked (that's right, walked not ran), something changed in the air, the fluffy white clouds all around them turned grey, as though they were travelling into a hurricane of swirling wind. The sounds of thunder overhead became louder. The lightning changed too, gone was the rainbow of colours, only one hue remained, angrier, more aggressive than the rest: Red.

 

And the further they walked; the more anxious Krill became. "Where are we? What... what have you done?" he asked, uncharacteristically uncertain. Shaken.

 

"Zoom. Where are we?" he asked again.

 

"Thislesson isbeyondme. Ineed someone toshow me the way,” Zoom whispered quietly, merely raising more unsettling questions.

 

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU TAKEN ME?!" Krill bellowed, his entire body quaking; tiny globs of spittle flew out of his mouth and landed on Zoom's face. He ripped two dots off his shoulders and pointed them at Zoom’s face, both glowing with neon energy.

 

"Iwould nooooooot do thaaaaat ifiwere youuuuuuuuuu,” Zoom wagged his finger back and forth.

 

"Yeah? Why the hell not?" Krill demanded, his eyes bulging.

 

"Youuuuuuuuuuuuu'll unsettle the wraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiths."

 

Krill’s arm fell by his side, the energy dissipating from his fists. Realisation had set in, and grovelling even quicker. "Oh... Oh, God. I... I was loyal. Didn't betray you, didn't tell Bats or the Kite-Man shit. You don't... You don't have to do this. Please, don't do this."

 

Zoom cocked his head to one side, a motion that could almost be described as pity. "Youmisunderstand, Aaaaaaaaabneeeeeer. Thisis not apunishment. Thisisa leeeeeeeesssoooooooon."

 

"Lesson." A word that anyone who had ever been on Zoom's receiving end had learned to fear. But Krill wouldn't stick around for the demonstration, he reached for the dial on his belt, and then a final, gut-wrenching twist of the knife: The belt was gone.

 

As Krill struggled to reconcile what had happened, Zoom raised his hand, and his heart beat even faster than before: all his hopes of escape vanished at once. Dangling from Zoom’s wrist was his red belt. Krill had never even noticed he'd taken it. Zoom’s syllabus was at last revealed with one haunting phrase: "Suuuuuuuuuuuuurvival ofthe fittest."

 

"No. Please. I'm not like the rest of the psychotic grunts who lube themselves up over LiveLeaks or nuke cities for jollies," Krill chuckled nervously, sweat across his pimpled brow. "I'm... I'm like you."

 

Before Zolomon could answer, a third voice broke through the fog; calm, arrogant, evil. "Oh, Abner, I don't think we're alike at all.”

 

“Quite the reverse, actually."

 

Krill tried to offer a pitiful rebuttal, but it was too late: Lightning bolts wrapped around his wrists like manacles, dragging him deeper into the void, his corporeal form fading, then for a moment: silence.

The Storm had accepted Zoom's offering. And then all at once, red lightning shot down on the spot Krill had been standing prior, forming a yellow silhouette. "In academic circles, this is what we'd call a 'teaching moment,' Mr Krill,” the figure smiled, his image becoming clearer; he looked like Zolomon but his uniform was a brighter yellow, his build was leaner, his red irises were exposed, and he was smiling. The Professor, was in.

 

“Class dismissed.”

 

Zolomon offered his mentor Krill’s belt; the device clicked as Thawne fastened it around his waist; a portal opened, but more destructively than before; without its true master, the circular vortex was jagged, unstable. But the Reverse-Flashes didn't need long. Faster than you could blink, they were gone; and the portal folded in on itself, leaving the Speedforce quiet once more.

 

==Keystone City. West Residence==

 

Wally West closed the door to his daughter Irey’s bedroom, then sped downstairs, yellow lightning trailing after him. His wife Linda was on the sofa, who, upon spying him, raised a bottle of non-alcoholic wine off the coffee table.

 

“Kids asleep?” she asked slyly.

 

“Yep,” Wally smirked; in an instant, he was sitting beside her on the sofa. He held up a glass and she began to trickle wine into it.

 

“Merry Christmas, Mr West,” she kissed him on the cheek.

 

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Park,” he smiled back cheekily, reciprocating with a longer smooch on the lips.

 

Then suddenly, Wally stumbled back, clutching his head as images flooded his head. The glass hit the floor, shattering on impact, and staining the floor a blood red.

 

"Wally? You OK?" Linda knelt beside him, placing her arm around him comfortingly.

 

"I... I don't know."

Done