Not long after they left the coffee shop, someone wearing a mask bolted past the bicycle. Without hesitation, Sasha hopped off and sprinted after him. But the figure was too fast—slipping through alleys and corners until he was gone. She returned breathless, her face set in frustration.
"What in the world were you doing?" Barry hissed. "Don't you know you could be found out if you chase after a hero like that?"
"An… hero?" she asked, puzzled.
"Yeah," Barry explained quickly. "All heroes have that red mark on them. Doesn't matter what they wear—if you see the mark, you're looking at a hero."
Almost as if on cue, a car zoomed past them, a red X painted boldly across its side. A man leaned out the window, his voice booming through the street.
"Please evacuate the premises! The running man is on trial for impersonation! I repeat—he is not a hero! Stand clear! If you are injured during his death, the state holds no responsibility!"
He then climbed out through the window and onto the roof of the speeding car. His eyes were different from other regular colors, they were dull pink with strange symbols and targeting reticles flickering across his irises. He raised a gun, firing shot after shot.
"Damn it—he's too fast!" he growled.
Another figure arrived on a motorbike, skidding to a halt beside the car. "I'll take it from here."
"Okay, Allen!"
The motorbike roared ahead, and the rider shouted, "Phoenix!"
From above, a girl with blazing wings descended, snatching Allen from the bike and launching him high into the air.
"Silent! Get him to take a left!" Allen barked.
"Got it!"
The marked car veered sharply, cutting off the masked fugitive and forcing him into a left turn.
Phoenix released Allen midair. As he plummeted, his right arm began to swell grotesquely, morphing into a massive flat surface. The closer he came to the ground, the larger it grew, until—
CRASH.
The street shook. Blood splattered across the pavement, painting the alley crimson. The running man was no more than a stain.