Flashback: Five years ago
The sirens cut through the night like razors. Red and blue lights painted the walls of the small apartment, flickering like a broken dream.
August clutched the frayed edge of the blanket on the couch, his knuckles pale with fear. He was eighteen. The TV was still on, the last frame of a paused crime thriller frozen on the screen. A half-eaten sandwich sat forgotten beside him.
He already knew.
Even before the knock at the door. Even before the voices behind it. Even before the landlord nervously stepped in with the two officers behind him. He knew Jorge wasn't coming home.
"He was ambushed," the officer said, eyes downcast. "Shot during a routine patrol. The assailant—Billy Sparks—has been arrested."
August didn't cry. Not at first. His mind didn't let him. It was too stunned, like the bullet had passed through Jorge and into him too. Jorge had raised him since their parents' accident. Worked double shifts at CCPD just to afford August's schoolbooks. Took him to ball games. Taught him how to ride a bike. The man had been a brother, father, and hero rolled into one.
Now he was just... gone.
Weeks later, August stood frozen while they explained how Jorge's evidence—the only link tying Billy Sparks to the scene—was stored in the CCPD forensic lab. And how, later that night, a freak accident at the lab had caused a power surge. One that sparked a fire in the precinct.
The evidence was lost. Jorge's killer would walk.
That was the night August swore: the system wouldn't save anyone. Not him. Not Jorge. If he ever got power, real power, he'd make sure no one like Billy Sparks ever slipped through again.
Present Day
August stood barefoot in an abandoned field outside city limits, tall grass brushing against his legs, wind tugging at his hoodie. The old industrial lot was deserted, nature had begun reclaiming it, weeds pushing through cracked pavement, rusted fences creaking in the breeze.
He exhaled slowly, took a running stance, and vanished.
Dust swirled behind him. His outline blurred as he rocketed forward, faster than a blink. He dodged broken pipes, sprinted along the rusted skeleton of a collapsed scaffolding, and skidded to a stop a hundred yards. His breath came steady. Heartbeat strong.
He was testing his limits. Strength. Reflexes. Speed.
He didn't know how fast he was exactly. Fast enough to pass cars. Fast enough that rain felt like frozen moments. But he didn't dare run where people could see. Not again.
He'd already made that mistake once.
The text came late that night:
From: Unknown Number
"You need to come in. Before someone else finds you. - Cisco Ramon, S.T.A.R. Labs"
Back inside S.T.A.R. Labs, August sat on the edge of a lab table, eyeing the machines nervously. Dr. Caitlin Snow took his vitals, her touch clinical but kind.
"Your body temperature runs high," she said. "Your heart rate is elevated but stable. Almost… too stable."
He raised a brow. "Isn't that a good thing?"
Caitlin smiled faintly. "It is. But that kind of consistency suggests your body's adapting rapidly. Hyper-regenerative cells. Increased oxygenation. And your EEG scans? Off the charts."
Cisco walked in with a tray of snacks and dropped them on her desk. "We ran the numbers on the footage. You clocked over 200 miles per hour during your little… jog."
August blinked. "You were watching me?"
"Dude," Cisco said, munching a chip. "You disappeared and reappeared across a street in broad daylight. Cameras picked you up. Half the internet thought it was a glitch in the Matrix. We enhanced the footage. Ran cross-checks. Luckily your face wasn't visible and apart from us, no one can tell it was you."
Dr. Wells rolled in quietly behind them, his gaze calculating.
"You weren't careful," Wells said. "And the city is watching. Others are watching."
August shifted uneasily. "So you brought me in to test me?"
"To help you," Caitlin said. "You were struck by the same dark matter surge that created the explosion. We think that's what activated your powers. We've seen others. We call them metahumans."
Wells added, "But none like you."
Cisco led August back to the open field the next afternoon with the team from S.T.A.R. Labs, this time with portable equipment and a makeshift testing area set up on the old asphalt.
"We'll build something more permanent soon," Cisco said, gesturing to a sleek white suit hanging off a tripod. "This is for now. Insulated for friction. Shock-absorbing pads. Lightweight. Not quite a cape and cowl, but hey - we're workshopping names."
"Names?"
Cisco grinned. "Every hero needs one. But let's start with your speed."
The test began.
August ran.
And the world disappeared.
He blurred forward, air crackling behind him as he accelerated. The wind roared in his ears. Grass bent in his wake. The equipment beeped wildly as he raced past the sensors and looped around. Faster. Faster. Until the wind howled and even sound seemed to lag behind him.
When he stopped, he was sweating but smiling.
Caitlin looked stunned. "That was Mach 1.2. do you know what that means?"
August panted. "That I'm gonna need better shoes?"
Even Wells chuckled.
Later, back at the lab, Cisco patted the shell of a bulky new contraption taking shape in one of the test bays.
"I'm calling it the Cosmic Treadmill. So next time? We don't need to hijack a football field."
He smirked playfully and waved August over to a storage room tucked away behind the main lab.
"Come check this out."
August followed, curious.
Inside, crates and equipment were stacked neatly, labeled with his name. His old laptops. Notes. Even some half-finished inventions.
"When your lease expired and your landlord started tossing your stuff into boxes," Cisco explained, "Dr. Wells had it all recovered and stored here. Thought you'd want it."
Dr. Wells wheeled in behind them, hands folded calmly in his lap.
"S.T.A.R. Labs has not been operational since FEMA categorized us as class four hazardous location," Dr. Wells explained. There's something grounding about his voice and August manages to tie himself to it, listening intently.
"Seventeen people died that night." There's a solemn quality to Dr. Wells' voice, difficult to read. Like he, too, is trying to keep certain emotions under lock-and-key. August has to admit that Dr. Wells' attempts are significantly more successful; he's not sure if he'll start laughing or crying or screaming first, but thankfully, finality is strong, shoving everything else behind the door, letting his heart slow again to its new resting march.
"Many more were injured," Dr. Wells says, "myself amongst them."
August becomes painfully aware of Dr. Wells' position, trapped in a wheelchair. Before he can comment on it, ask him how permanent it is, something else grips him as they reach the edge of an observation platform and look down at a meltdown of incredible proportions.
"Jeez." He swallows sharply and asks, "What happened?"
There's a dream-like quality to Dr. Wells' voice, and August lets himself be lulled by it, listening with steadfast ears.
"Nine months ago," Dr. Wells intones, "the particle accelerator went online exactly as planned. For forty-five minutes I had achieved my life's dream."
August tries to comprehend it, the magnitude of such an achievement. He remembers staring in utter amazement at the man that night, hoping to be like him some day, someone greater and wiser than he would ever be.
"Then…then there was an anomaly."
There's a halting quality to Dr. Wells' tone, like it pains him to admit it, and August thinks neither of them are as good at concealing emotion as they would like.
"The electron volts became unmeasurable, the ring under us popped. Energy from that detonation was thrown into the sky and that, in turn seeded a storm cloud…"
Huddled behind the mental wall with finality, shielded from every other emotion, August can think. It comes together slowly: without mental attachment, easily. "That created the lightning bolt that struck me," he finishes.
Dr. Wells nodded slightly.
"After the explosion, the public lost faith. The stock plummeted. Researches resigned en-masse. Our subsidiaries shut down. S.T.A.R. Labs went bankrupt. I acquired what remained and took it private."
He looked August in the eye.
"But someone like you? A mind like yours shouldn't be worried about leases and landlords. If you stay here, you can work on whatever you want. Research without limitations. And in return, you can let us help you understand what you are… and what you can become."
Cisco added with a hopeful grin, "And maybe help us with a few upgrades around here. We could use a genius or two."
August looked around the room - at his things, at the possibilities, at the future laid out in circuits and glass and steel.
"I'll think about it," he said.
And meant it.