The sky over Central City looked like it had been painted in steel wool — thick, gray clouds and a biting wind that scraped the early afternoon quiet. August Heart stood on the rooftop of one of S.T.A.R. Labs' auxiliary observation towers, the hem of his white coat tugged by the breeze. From up here, the city didn't look like a maze of chaos. It looked peaceful. Like it could be saved.
Below, life churned forward: buses hissed down crowded lanes, people scrolled through devices, baristas smiled through their fifth cup served. But August wasn't here for the city's calm. He was watching a specific pattern.
Reports had been coming in; of strange behavior erupting in waves across town. Flash mobs with no music, commuters getting into irrational screaming matches on the light rail, entire lecture halls dissolving into sobbing fits. It wasn't just mass hysteria. It was targeted. Controlled.
Caitlin's voice buzzed over his comm. "Third incident today. A courthouse. Judge and jury started screaming at each other. Bailiff broke a chair trying to escape the room. They're all sedated now."
"Coordinates?"
"North courthouse on Fairmont. JANUS is scanning nearby activity."
"Keep tracking. He's escalating."
August stepped off the edge — and vanished in a streak of white and gold.
***
The courthouse was a mess of emotions still hanging in the air — fear, anger, confusion, residual tears. August moved between first responders like a shadow, slipping unseen into the security offices. JANUS already had access, hijacking the surveillance feed.
He rewound the footage to just before the chaos broke out.
"There," JANUS said, highlighting a figure in a red-tinted jacket, slipping past the front checkpoint like smoke. No alarms. No weapons. Just him. The facial recognition lit up seconds later.
"Roy G. Bivolo," August murmured. "Known alias: Rainbow Raider. Arrested once for larceny, art theft. Released due to lack of evidence."
"But that was before his exposure during the accelerator explosion," JANUS added. "Before the light hit him."
Bivolo's power, as they'd theorized in the past, was frequency-based — visual and neurological. He stimulated emotion by modulating light directly into a target's visual cortex. In plain terms: he weaponized color.
August remembered the last case report: a museum guard shot his best friend after ten minutes under Bivolo's influence.
This wasn't just vandalism.
It was emotional terrorism.
***
Later that night, S.T.A.R. Labs' Cortex was dimmed except for the soft glow of diagnostics running through Caitlin's workstation. Cisco leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, as holographic models of light spectra rotated above them.
"Every time he shows up, it's chaos," Cisco said. "Like he's bottling mood swings and letting them loose."
"He's testing boundaries," August replied. "He wants to see how far he can push people before they snap."
"And he's succeeding," Caitlin added, pulling up a brain scan from one of the courthouse victims. "This isn't subtle. His light triggers real neurological feedback: dopamine spikes, serotonin crashes, adrenaline dumps. We're talking involuntary responses."
"You can't just shake off what he does to you," Cisco muttered.
JANUS cut in: "He's moved again. Eastern quadrant. JANUS' scan detects residual neurochemical shifts, strong levels of cortisol and adrenaline near Grant Park."
August was already on his feet. "Suit up."
***
Grant Park at night was usually serene — families, joggers, couples. Not tonight.
People were screaming. A woman collapsed onto a bench, sobbing uncontrollably. A man punched a lamppost hard enough to break his hand. Every few feet, another breakdown. Police were already calling for reinforcements.
And in the middle of it, standing casually near the old war memorial, was Roy Bivolo.
He wore tinted goggles and a custom rig on his wrists; slim metal panels glowing faintly. He was waving his arms like a conductor, each movement releasing bursts of colored light across the crowd.
Red. Orange. Purple.
Emotions rippled like explosions through the park.
Godspeed streaked in, a blur of white lightning, and stopped a few feet away.
Roy turned and smiled. "The famous ghost of Central City. You're taller than I expected."
"Turn it off," August said. His voice was low but sharp. "Now."
Roy raised an eyebrow. "Why would I stop now? This city's drowning in its own apathy. I'm giving it… feeling."
Another pulse — this time yellow. Someone laughed maniacally in the distance.
"I'm going to ask one more time." August took a step forward.
Roy sneered. "What are you going to do? You can't hit emotion. You can't run away from it either."
August surged forward — but Roy was ready. He threw his hands wide, casting a spectrum of ultraviolet light. August braced, shielding his eyes behind the polarized filters Cisco had built into the mask. Still, he staggered.
Red rage slammed into him like a wave.
His fists clenched. His breath quickened. For a second — just a second — he wanted to punch Roy's head clean off.
Then he heard Caitlin's voice in his comm. Steady. Clear.
"August. Focus. You're stronger than the push."
He shut his eyes. Focused on his own pulse. His breath. The light inside the prism.
White lightning crackled around his frame.
He moved.
In a second, Roy was on the ground — goggles crushed, wrists bound in dampeners, the emotion rig shorted out by an EMP pulse woven into August's gloves.
The park fell still. The chaos ebbed.
Roy lay dazed, blinking up at the night sky.
"What did you do to me?" he rasped.
"I muted you," August said. "Central City's loud enough without your help."
***
Back at S.T.A.R. Labs, Roy was secured in a reinforced holding chamber; the same one they'd customized after Bette's containment protocols. Lights dimmed, no reflections. No spectrum interference.
Cisco leaned over the railing. "Dude's gonna need a therapist."
"Make it two," Caitlin muttered.
August watched the monitor for a moment before turning away. He didn't like what Roy's light had pulled from him.
The rage.
The craving for violence.
He'd never forget it.
As he walked down the corridor, he whispered, "JANUS, prep a new file."
"Name, sir?"
"Project Eclipse."