"So, can you tell me how long I was unconscious?" Barry asked, staring at the two people in front of him with clear confusion.
"Four months," Cisco replied, raising four fingers for emphasis. "To be exact, four months and three days."
"Only four months?" Barry frowned, struggling to process it. "How has everything changed so much? Did the world move too fast, or did I just fall behind?"
Cisco let out a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Honestly, a lot has happened in a short time. Even I can barely keep up, so you are not alone."
Barry hesitated, then asked, "So… our current President really is Homelander?"
"Yes," Cisco said, nodding.
"Why didn't anyone stop him?" Barry's voice carried disbelief. "That should not have been possible under normal procedures."
"They tried," Cisco answered with a shrug, his tone turning serious. "Nobody succeeded. He keeps getting stronger. Right now, no one can match him."
Before Cisco could continue, Caitlin stepped in, her patience clearly wearing thin.
"We can discuss Homelander later," she said firmly. "Right now, you have more immediate concerns. Dr. Wells will be here soon. You should get dressed first."
Barry glanced down at himself, awkwardness flashing across his face. He quickly took the clothes Cisco handed him and started putting them on as he walked.
The moment he stepped forward, everything went wrong.
Bang.
Barry slammed straight into the doorframe and dropped to the ground, clutching his nose as pain shot through his face.
Cisco froze, stunned by what he had just seen.
After a few seconds, he looked at Caitlin. "Did you see that? He moved so fast it was like a flash. One second he was here, the next he hit the door."
"I saw it," Caitlin replied, her expression complicated. "Something is different about him. His body is not functioning normally."
Barry, still holding his bleeding nose, felt the room spinning even more.
That sudden burst of speed had not just been fast, it had been disorienting. For a brief moment, everything around him seemed to slow to a crawl while he continued moving forward. The contrast between his motion and the stillness of the world created a strange, almost unreal sensation.
Before he could make sense of it, a calm voice came from the doorway.
"Hello, Barry Allen. I am Dr. Wells. Welcome back."
Barry looked up and saw a middle-aged man in a wheelchair, composed and attentive.
Dr. Wells offered a small, reassuring smile. "I believe we have a great deal to discuss."
Barry pushed himself to his feet, still a little unsteady. Facing someone he had long admired, he felt a nervous tension rise in his chest.
"It is good to see you, Dr. Wells."
Time shifted.
The scene moved to a large building near S.T.A.R. Labs, where a public presentation was underway.
Dr. Wells sat on stage, addressing a full audience.
"Months ago, an experiment left me unable to walk, and many brilliant researchers lost their lives," he said, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "It was a tragedy in every sense. But I will not retreat. Science has always advanced through persistence. Setbacks, even painful ones, only push us to strive harder."
The crowd responded with loud applause, their admiration evident.
Among the audience sat two students, Rachel and Sophia.
"If I had known this would be so boring, I would not have come," Rachel muttered, slumping slightly in her seat.
Sophia adjusted her glasses and glanced toward her parents nearby. "My mom said I had to be home before dark," she said, then looked back at Rachel. "But you said you were planning to stay in Central City tonight."
"That was before I knew this is what we would be doing," Rachel replied, clearly unimpressed. "If this were an amusement park or something exciting, I would not complain."
Sophia studied her for a moment. "I thought you liked this kind of thing. You are always reading in class."
"Reading is one thing," Rachel said. "Sitting through speeches like this is something else."
Sophia turned her attention back to the stage, admiration returning to her eyes. "Dr. Wells is one of the greatest scientists of our time. Even after everything, S.T.A.R. Labs being classified as a hazardous zone and all that, he is still pushing forward."
"Good for him," Rachel said with a faint shrug. "But I would rather know what really happened with that explosion everyone keeps talking about."
"I only know parts of it," Sophia admitted. "The first forty-five minutes of the experiment were stable. Then the energy levels spiked beyond measurement. The accelerator ring failed, and the explosion sent energy straight into the sky. That energy formed a storm system, and then…"
"It created lightning," Barry said quietly from backstage.
Cisco leaned in, curious.
Barry continued, watching Dr. Wells speak from a distance. "A lightning bolt struck me."
It had been a week since he woke up.
In that time, Barry had begun to understand his abilities, at least on a basic level.
"That lightning changed everything," Cisco said, clearly impressed. "You can already run at two hundred kilometers per hour."
Barry shook his head slightly. "That is not my limit. Yesterday, during testing, I reached nine hundred kilometers per hour. But I lost control."
He lifted his left arm, wrapped in bandages.
"I crashed into a water tank. That is how this happened."
Cisco's eyes lit up. "That is incredible. No one has ever moved that fast. You are the first speedster in the world."
Barry did not look convinced. "I doubt that."
"You mean Homelander or Superman?" Cisco asked.
"Their speed must be insane, but they are not exactly human," he added after a pause.
"I am not talking about them," Barry said, his voice lowering.
He thought about the memory that had haunted him since childhood, the night his mother died. The strange lights, the impossible movement.
But he kept that thought to himself.
Before the conversation could continue, a loud noise erupted from below the stage.
A gunshot.
The sound echoed sharply through the building, cutting through every conversation.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!"
A rough, unrestrained voice followed.
Six masked men stormed into the hall, dragging security guards with them. Their presence instantly silenced the room.
The leader, wearing a black mask, fired another shot into the air.
"Consider this a special program for tonight's event."
The sudden violence froze the crowd. What had been quiet conversation turned into absolute silence.
The masked leader stepped forward, shotgun in hand, his movements relaxed in a way that made everything more unsettling.
"Central City may not be like Gotham, but that does not mean it lacks excitement," he said, sweeping his gaze across the audience. "Tonight, we are here to provide a proper show."
He raised his weapon and fired at the chandelier above. The blast sent fragments trembling, and several people flinched in fear.
"Do not bother calling the police," he continued casually. "It will take them at least twenty minutes to reach this building. We made sure of that."
He paced slowly, completely at ease.
"Before they arrive…" he said, pressing the shotgun against one of the captured guards.
Bang.
The shot rang out, and the guard collapsed instantly.
A wave of terror swept through the room. The wealthy guests, once composed and confident, now huddled together, fear stripping away their status.
Blood spread across the polished floor, stark against the marble.
"We want ten million in cash," the masked leader announced. "You have five minutes to make that happen. Consider it a small contribution from Central City's elite."
He picked up a glass of champagne from a nearby table, as if he were attending a social event instead of orchestrating a robbery.
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