The First National Bank was a scene of ordered chaos. Police cruisers formed a half-moon perimeter, their lights painting the grand stone facade in swirling red and blue. Uniformed officers held back a small crowd of onlookers and frustrated customers, their voices creating a low, anxious hum.
Barry pulled up in his sedan, Patty in the passenger seat. Stepping out, the crisp morning air was undercut by a strange, acrid smell—like ozone and burnt metal.
Joe waved them over, his face grim. "Took you long enough," he said, but there was no heat in it. He gestured toward the bank's entrance. "You're not gonna believe this."
They ducked under the police tape. The inside of the bank was all polished marble and dark wood, a stark contrast to the scene of violation. Bank employees huddled together, being comforted by officers. But everyone's eyes, full of a confused fear, were drawn to the back of the bank.
To the vault.
Or what was left of it.
The massive, circular door, a foot thick of reinforced steel and complex locking mechanisms, wasn't just broken. It was… liquefied. A waterfall of solidified, silvery metal had poured from the doorway and hardened on the marble floor, looking like a bizarre, modern art sculpture. The edges of the hole were smooth and glassy, as if the steel had been turned to water and then frozen solid again.
Eddie Thawne stood nearby, arms crossed, staring at the wreckage. "No explosives. No tools. Witnesses say a guy in a long coat just walked up, put his hand on the door for about ten seconds, and it did… that."
Barry felt a familiar, professional calm settle over him. This was his element. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves, the snap sounding loud in the hushed space.
"Okay, clear me a path," he said, his voice low and focused.
He approached the melted vault, his field kit in hand. Patty followed, her detective's eyes scanning everything, though she kept a respectful distance from his work.
Barry knelt, ignoring the cold of the marble seeping through his pants. He first examined the puddle of hardened metal. He took a small scraping, sealing it in an evidence bag. The surface was mirror-smooth and strangely cool to the touch.
"Patty, the witness statements said he just touched it?" Barry asked without looking up.
"Yeah," she said, pulling out her notepad. "A bank teller said he seemed calm. Didn't say a word. Just walked straight to the vault, placed his palm flat on the door, and watched it melt. He stepped through, grabbed what looked like safety deposit boxes, and walked right back out through the front door."
"Through a crowd of people?" Joe asked, incredulous.
Patty nodded. "No one tried to stop him. They were too shocked. He just… left."
Barry's attention was now on the edges of the hole. He pulled a high-powered forensic loupe from his kit, peering at the glassy, reformed steel.
"No residue," he murmured, more to himself than anyone. "No sign of extreme heat. If it was thermal, the marble would be scorched, there'd be smoke damage." He ran a gloved finger along the edge. It was perfectly smooth. "This isn't melting from heat. It's… molecular disintegration. He somehow broke the atomic bonds holding the metal together. Turned it into a liquid without boiling it."
Eddie let out a low whistle. "So we're looking for a guy who can un-make things just by touching them? That's not terrifying at all."
Barry stood up, pulling out his alternate light source. He switched it on, bathing the area in a violet glow. He swept the beam slowly over the hardened metal puddle and the floor around it.
"Got something," he said, his voice tight with discovery.
On the marble floor, just in front of the melted vault, the UV light revealed a perfect, glowing handprint. It wasn't a print left in dust or grease. It was etched into the stone itself, as if the marble had been lightly frosted.
"He left a signature," Barry said.
He carefully dusted the print with magnetic powder, the fine black particles clinging to the microscopic changes in the stone's surface. He then placed a lift card over it, creating a perfect copy.
"Whoever he is, his power has a residual effect," Barry explained, sealing the lift. "It doesn't just affect what he's targeting. It bleeds out. This print is a side effect."
Joe came closer, looking at the clear, black print now preserved on the card. "So we have his prints. That's a start."
"Maybe," Barry said, his mind already racing through the possibilities. "But if his touch can do this to steel and marble, I doubt his fingerprints are in any database we have access to. This is a new kind of meta."
He stood, looking from the terrifyingly smooth hole in the vault to the delicate, frosted handprint on the floor. It was a contradiction. Immense, brutal power, and a faint, almost elegant trace.
"Alright, people," Joe's voice cut through the speculation, returning to his role as the lead detective. "Eddie, I want you to get with the uniforms and start a door-to-door. See if anyone saw which way he went. Patty, double-check the witness statements, see if anyone caught a better look at his face. Barry, get those samples back to the lab. I want to know what we're dealing with, chemically."
The team snapped into action, the mystery of the melted vault giving them a clear, tangible goal. As Barry packed his kit, his eyes met Patty's. Her professional mask was in place, but he could see the questions burning behind her eyes. Questions about how the Flash would handle a man who could unmake the world with a touch.
He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. Later, it promised.
For now, they had work to do.