Barry Allen’s sneakers smack the linoleum as he barrels down the police station corridor, juggling a stack of crime scene folders and a half-drained coffee. His phone buzzes, again. Iris’s voice, sharp but affectionate, cuts through the chaos.
“Barry, you’re late.”
In his other ear, the city-wide police scanner crackles alive: three bank alarms, all triggered in the same instant, miles apart. Barry’s heart pounds. He ducks into the empty evidence lockup, folders scattering. Red lightning crackles around his fingertips as he taps into the Speed Force. The world slows to syrup. His reflection flashes in the locker’s steel, a scarlet suit, gold lightning, reminding him who he is. Echoes shimmer at the edge of his sight, like afterimages of moments that haven’t happened yet. He hears Iris,
“Be careful”
, and the city calling for its hero. Barry breathes in, lets the Speed Force flow. Time bends. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone, a crimson blur streaking toward the first alarm, as the world shivers and reality itself seems to hold its breath.