The Central City Police Department looked exactly the same as it had two weeks ago, which somehow made everything worse. Marcus stood outside the building, his visitor badge clipped to his jacket, trying to convince himself he could do this.
Just walk in. Act normal. Pretend nothing had changed.
Except everything had changed.
"You coming in or are you going to stand there all day?" Captain Singh's voice made Marcus jump. The captain stood in the doorway, coffee in hand, eyebrow raised. "Chen. Good to see you back on your feet."
"Thank you, sir." Marcus forced himself to move, to walk through the doors like a normal person who hadn't spent the last week learning to tear holes in reality.
The forensics lab was on the third floor, tucked away in a corner that smelled perpetually of chemicals and old coffee. His desk was exactly as he'd left it, files stacked neatly, his microscope covered with a protective cloth. Someone had left a "Welcome Back" card propped against his computer monitor.
"Marcus!" Jenny Park, one of the other forensic analysts, practically bounced over to him. "Oh my god, we heard about the lightning strike. Are you okay? You look okay. You look great, actually. Better than great."
"I'm fine," Marcus said automatically. "Just lucky, I guess."
"Lucky is an understatement. Do you know the survival rate for direct lightning strikes? It's like ten percent. And you don't even have any scars." Jenny leaned against his desk, studying him with open curiosity. "Did it hurt? What did it feel like?"
"Jenny, let the man breathe." Barry Allen appeared from the back room, carrying a tray of evidence samples. He was younger than Marcus by a few years, perpetually cheerful in a way that should have been annoying but somehow wasn't. "Welcome back, Marcus. We missed having someone around here who actually labels their samples correctly."
Marcus managed a smile. "Thanks, Barry."
"Captain wants you to ease back in. No heavy caseload for the first week. Just some routine analysis, maybe help me with the backlog from the particle accelerator explosion." Barry set the tray down carefully. "There's a lot of weird stuff coming in. Materials that don't match any known compounds, burn patterns that don't make sense. It's like the laws of physics took a vacation that night."
If only he knew.
Marcus spent the morning trying to focus on work. He ran tests, analyzed samples, wrote reports. Normal things. Human things. But his spatial sense kept intruding, making him aware of every dimension in the room, every potential space he could manipulate.
The evidence locker was fifteen feet away. He could feel it, could sense the exact dimensions of the room beyond the wall. Could almost see the layout in his mind.
He wondered if he could open a portal to it. Just a small one. Just to see if he could.
No. That was insane. He was at work. Surrounded by cops and forensic analysts and security cameras. He couldn't just start opening portals because he was curious.
He forced himself to focus on the microscope, on the fiber sample he was supposed to be analyzing. Cotton blend, probably from a jacket. Traces of accelerant. Standard arson case.
His phone buzzed. A text from Wells: "How is your first day back progressing?"
Marcus typed back: "Fine. Trying to act normal."
"Remember what we discussed. Control is essential. Do not let your emotions dictate your abilities."
Easy for him to say. Wells wasn't the one trying to pretend he was still human while his brain kept cataloging spatial dimensions like some kind of organic computer.
Lunch came and went. Marcus ate a sandwich in the break room, half-listening to Jenny and Barry argue about some TV show. Normal. This was normal.
Then the alarms went off.
"All units, we have a 10-34 at Central City Bank, corner of Fifth and Main. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Reports of... " The dispatcher's voice faltered. "Reports of fire. A lot of fire. No accelerant detected. Repeat, no visible accelerant."
Marcus's blood went cold. He looked at Barry, who was already on his feet.
"Metahuman," Barry said quietly. "Has to be."
The break room emptied as officers rushed to respond. Marcus stood frozen, his mind racing. A metahuman. Someone else touched by the particle accelerator explosion. Someone who could control fire.
Someone who could hurt people.
His phone buzzed again. Wells: "I am monitoring police frequencies. Do not engage. You are not ready."
But Marcus was already moving.
He took the stairs instead of the elevator, his enhanced reflexes making the descent almost effortless. By the time he reached the ground floor, most of the officers had already left. He could hear sirens in the distance, converging on the bank.
Fifth and Main was six blocks away. Too far to run without drawing attention. But maybe...
Marcus ducked into an alley, his heart pounding. He'd never tried to create a portal this large before. Never tried to travel through one. Wells had warned him it was dangerous, that he needed more training.
But people were in danger. Someone with fire powers was at a bank, probably robbing it, definitely capable of killing anyone who got in their way.
He closed his eyes, reaching for that sense of space that had become second nature. He could feel the dimensions of the alley, the buildings around him. Could sense the space six blocks away, near the bank.
Could he connect them?
Marcus extended his hand, focusing on the air in front of him. Reality rippled. The air shimmered, distorted, and then tore open like fabric.
Through the portal, he could see Fifth and Main. Could see the bank, smoke pouring from its windows. Could see police cars forming a perimeter, officers taking cover behind their vehicles.
He stepped through.
The transition was disorienting, like being turned inside out for a fraction of a second. Marcus stumbled, catching himself against a wall. The portal snapped shut behind him.
He'd done it. He'd actually done it.
No time to celebrate. The bank was fifty feet away, and he could feel the heat from here. Through the shattered windows, he could see flames dancing across the walls, moving in patterns that were definitely not natural.
A woman screamed.
Marcus ran toward the entrance. An officer tried to stop him, but he dodged past, his reflexes making the movement almost effortless. The heat hit him like a physical force as he entered the building.
The interior was chaos. Flames crawled across the ceiling, dripping down like liquid. The air was thick with smoke. And in the center of it all stood a man, maybe thirty years old, his hands wreathed in fire.
"Stay back!" the man shouted. His eyes were wild, terrified. "I don't want to hurt anyone, but I will if I have to!"
Three bank employees huddled behind the counter, coughing in the smoke. The fire was spreading fast, cutting off their escape routes.
Marcus's mind raced. He couldn't fight this guy. He had no combat training, no experience. But he could create portals. Could he use that?
The man hurled a ball of fire toward the counter. Marcus reacted on instinct, tearing open a portal in its path. The fireball disappeared into the dimensional pocket, and Marcus sealed it shut before the heat could escape.
The man spun toward him. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone trying to help." Marcus's voice was steadier than he felt. "You don't want to do this. I know you're scared. I know what happened to you feels impossible. But killing people isn't the answer."
"You don't know anything about me!" The man's hands blazed brighter. "They took everything! My job, my house, my family! S.T.A.R. Labs destroyed my life, and now I'm this... this thing!"
"You're not a thing. You're a person who got hurt by something that wasn't your fault." Marcus took a careful step forward. "But this won't fix it. This will just make everything worse."
"I don't care anymore!" The man thrust both hands forward, and a wave of fire erupted toward Marcus.
No time to think. Marcus opened a portal directly in front of himself, large enough to swallow the flames. They poured into the dimensional pocket, and he could feel the heat building inside it, pressing against the boundaries he'd created.
It was too much. The pocket was destabilizing. He couldn't hold it.
Marcus redirected, opening another portal above the man's head. The flames poured back out, raining down on their creator. The man screamed, throwing up his hands instinctively. The fire curved away from him, responding to his will, but the distraction was enough.
Marcus opened a third portal, this one right beneath the man's feet. He dropped through, and Marcus sealed it immediately, redirecting the exit point to outside the bank, right in the middle of the police perimeter.
The man tumbled onto the pavement, surrounded instantly by officers. Marcus could hear the shouting, the orders to get down, to put his hands up.
Inside the bank, the flames were dying without their creator to sustain them. Marcus opened portals around the trapped employees, creating escape routes that bypassed the fire. They stumbled through, coughing and terrified but alive.
Marcus's head was pounding. He'd created too many portals too quickly. His spatial sense was screaming at him, overloaded. He needed to get out before he collapsed.
He opened one more portal, back to the alley where he'd started. Stepped through. Sealed it behind him.
Then he leaned against the wall and tried not to throw up.
His phone was ringing. Wells.
"What did I tell you?" Wells's voice was sharp. "I specifically said not to engage."
"People were in danger," Marcus managed.
"And you could have been killed. You are not ready for field work, Mr. Chen. Your control is still too unstable." A pause. "However, I must admit your performance was... impressive. Creating multiple portals simultaneously, redirecting energy, spatial displacement of a target. You exceeded my expectations."
Marcus wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an observation. With Wells, it was hard to tell.
"Come to S.T.A.R. Labs tonight," Wells continued. "We need to discuss your training regimen. If you insist on putting yourself in danger, we should at least ensure you survive the experience."
The call ended. Marcus slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, his head in his hands.
He'd saved people today. That should feel good. That should feel like he'd done something right.
So why did he feel like he'd just made a terrible mistake?