The last thing Marcus Allen remembered was the horn of an eighteen-wheeler screaming through the rain.
Then: nothing.
Now: everything.
Victor Stone Jr. gasped awake in a hospital bed, his mind reeling not from the impact he'd never felt, but from the impossible flood of memories that weren't his. Seventeen years of a life he'd never lived crashed through his consciousness—birthday parties with parents named William and Sarah Stone, awkward high school moments, the terrifying night three weeks ago when electricity had danced between his fingers for the first time.
But underneath it all, Marcus Allen's memories remained crystal clear. Twenty-six years of reading comics, watching movies, obsessing over fictional worlds that were now, impossibly, real.
"Oh god," he whispered, staring at hands that were younger, darker, and crackling with barely contained energy. "I'm in the DC Universe."
The irony wasn't lost on him. In his previous life, he'd been the guy who argued with friends about plot holes, who ranted about how heroes caused more problems than they solved, who wrote angry forum posts about the revolving door of Arkham Asylum and the countless civilian casualties that never seemed to matter.
Now he could do something about it.
Victor—he was Victor now, had to remember that—sat up slowly, his enhanced awareness picking up the electrical signatures of every device in the hospital. Heart monitors, IV pumps, the security cameras in the corners. All of it sang to him, begging to be drained, absorbed, controlled.
Through the window, he could see the Star City skyline. Somewhere out there, Oliver Queen was playing dress-up with a bow and arrow, fighting the same criminals over and over again while the real problems—corporate corruption, systemic poverty, the cycle of violence—remained untouched.
A nurse entered, clipboard in hand, and Victor forced himself to smile. "How long was I out?"
"Three days, honey. You gave everyone quite a scare when you collapsed at school. The doctors think it might be related to your... condition." She glanced meaningfully at his hands, where small sparks still danced between his fingers.
His condition. Right. In this world's history, Victor Stone Jr. had just manifested meta-human abilities. Energy absorption, the files would say. Potential for heroic applications. The government would want to register him, train him, turn him into another cog in their broken machine.
They had no idea what they were dealing with.
"I feel different," Victor said, and it wasn't a lie. Power thrummed through his veins, but it was more than that. He felt... hungry. Hungry for the energy that surrounded him, hungry for the abilities he knew he could take, hungry to fix a world that had been broken for far too long.
The nurse patted his shoulder gently. "That's normal, dear. The counselor will be by tomorrow to talk about your options. There are programs for people like you—ways to use your gifts to help others."
Victor nodded, still smiling. "I'd like that. I really want to make a difference."
And he meant it. Just not the kind of difference they expected.
As the nurse left, Victor closed his eyes and reached out with his new senses, feeling the electrical grid of the entire hospital flowing around him. So much energy. So much potential.
In his previous life, Marcus Allen had been powerless to change anything. But Victor Stone Jr.? He was going to save the world.
Even if he had to drain every hero dry to do it.