Broome Plaza, Central City
October 15, 2024 - 3:47 PM
The screaming reached them two blocks before they arrived at the plaza.
Marcus sat in the passenger seat of Joe's unmarked Crown Victoria, his hands relaxed on his thighs, his expression appropriately concerned but controlled. Inside, however, the Speed Force roared to life like a caged animal scenting blood. It had been quiet for weeks—months, even—as Marcus prepared for his arrival in Central City, keeping his powers carefully suppressed, never using them unless absolutely necessary.
But now, with another speedster active nearby, the Speed Force sang in his veins with an intensity that was almost painful. It wanted out. It wanted to run, to fight, to prove that Marcus was faster, stronger, more than whatever metahuman was causing chaos ahead.
"Dispatch says we've got at least twenty civilians trapped," Joe said, weaving through traffic with the practiced ease of a veteran cop. His jaw was set, his eyes focused. This was a man who'd seen too many metahuman attacks, Marcus realized. A man who'd learned to compartmentalize fear and just act. "Speedster pinned them in the plaza somehow. Flash is en route but—"
A crimson and gold blur shot past their car, moving so fast that the Crown Victoria rocked from the displaced air. Joe didn't even flinch, just adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and kept driving.
"That'll be him," Joe said with something that sounded almost like pride. "Barry's gotten faster over the years. Used to be you could kind of see him when he ran. Now? Blink and he's gone."
Marcus said nothing, watching the direction the blur had gone. His enhanced perception—a side effect of his Speed Force connection—had caught details that Joe's normal human eyes couldn't. The way Barry Allen moved, the particular shade of his lightning, the exact frequency of his vibration through the air molecules.
It was the same. Different from the future version who'd killed his parents—younger, less refined, not yet transformed into whatever monster he would become—but fundamentally the same. The same man. The same DNA. The same Speed Force signature that had been burned into Marcus's memory that terrible night.
His hand unconsciously moved to his chest, where phantom pain still echoed twenty-five years later.
"You okay?" Joe glanced at him, concerned. "I know your first day probably wasn't supposed to include a metahuman crisis. If you need to hang back—"
"I'm good," Marcus said, forcing his hand down and his expression into something resembling determination. "Let's see what we're dealing with."
They arrived at Broome Plaza to find organized chaos. CCPD units had already established a perimeter, officers directing civilians away from the danger zone while others took cover behind their vehicles, weapons drawn but held low. In the center of the plaza, Marcus could see the problem.
A speedster—male, mid-twenties, wearing what looked like a homemade suit of dark blue and silver—had created some kind of vortex in the middle of the square. Wind and debris swirled in a contained column, and trapped within that column were approximately two dozen people, spinning slowly, suspended in midair by the constant circular motion.
"That's new," Joe muttered, already out of the car and moving toward the command post that Captain Singh was establishing. "Cisco's going to have a field day figuring out the physics on this one."
Marcus followed, his detective's mind cataloging details while his speedster instincts assessed the threat. The vortex was unstable—he could see it in the way the wind patterns fluctuated, in how some of the trapped civilians were starting to drift toward the outer edge where the speeds would tear them apart. This wasn't the work of an experienced speedster. This was someone who'd recently gotten powers and didn't fully understand how to control them.
Dangerous, but manageable. For someone like Marcus, it would take maybe fifteen seconds to disrupt the vortex, grab all the civilians, and deposit them safely outside the affected area. But Marcus Reid, normal detective, couldn't do that. Marcus Reid had to stand here with the other officers and wait for The Flash to save the day.
The thought made something dark and bitter coil in his chest.
"Stand down!" The speedster in the center of the plaza shouted, his voice distorted by the wind but still audible. "I want recognition! I want respect! I'm faster than all of you, and I'm tired of being ignored!"
"Oh great," muttered an officer near Marcus—Reynolds, according to his name tag. "Another one with a god complex. Why can't we get speedsters who just want to rob banks like normal criminals?"
"What's his story?" Marcus asked Joe, keeping his voice level and professional.
"No idea. Singh, do we have an ID yet?"
Captain Singh looked up from his tablet, his expression grim. "Facial recognition puts him as Derek Simmons, twenty-four, works—worked—at Mercury Labs in their particle physics division. Reported missing three days ago. No previous criminal record, no red flags. Model employee according to his supervisor."
"Mercury Labs," Joe repeated, and Marcus heard something in his tone. "Same place that had that Speed Force energy containment failure last week."
Singh nodded. "Thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That Simmons was exposed and got powers he couldn't handle. Yeah." Joe pulled out his phone. "I'll call S.T.A.R. Labs, see if they can—"
He was interrupted by another crimson blur, this one resolving into solid form about thirty feet from the vortex. The Flash stood in his iconic suit—red and gold, lightning bolt emblem prominent on his chest, white lenses hiding his eyes. He raised his hands in what was clearly meant to be a non-threatening gesture.
"Derek," The Flash called out, his voice carrying across the plaza despite the wind. "Derek Simmons, right? I know you're scared. I know these powers are overwhelming. But this isn't the way. Let these people go, and we can talk. I can help you."
For a moment, Marcus forgot to breathe.
It had been twenty-five years since he'd seen that suit up close. Twenty-five years since those white lenses had fixed on him while his parents lay dead on the floor. The rational part of Marcus's mind knew this wasn't the same Flash—not yet, not for another quarter century. This Barry Allen was younger, probably in his early thirties, still operating with idealism and hope intact.
But the twelve-year-old boy who still lived somewhere deep in Marcus's psyche didn't care about temporal mechanics or different versions of the same person. That boy saw the lightning bolt emblem and remembered death.
The Speed Force inside Marcus surged, responding to his emotional state, crackling just beneath his skin. He had to force it down, force himself to remain still and human and unremarkable. Not yet. Not here. Not like this.
"Help me?" Derek Simmons laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. "You can't help me! Do you know what it's like? Having all this power, all this speed, and knowing that no matter how fast I am, you'll always be faster? That everyone will always compare me to you and I'll always come up short?"
"I know exactly what that's like," Flash said, and something in his tone made Marcus look at him more carefully. "I've met speedsters faster than me, Derek. It's not about being the fastest. It's about what you do with the power."
"Easy for you to say! You're Central City's hero! You've got statues and museums and everyone loves you!" The vortex spun faster, and one of the trapped civilians—a woman in her fifties—screamed as she was pulled toward the deadly outer edge. "What do I have? Nothing! I'm nobody!"
Flash moved, a burst of speed that carried him forward, but Derek reacted faster than Marcus expected. The vortex expanded suddenly, forcing Flash back, and the wind speeds increased to dangerous levels.
"Stay back!" Derek shouted. "Stay back or they all die!"
This was deteriorating fast. Marcus could see it in the way Derek's body language shifted from attention-seeking to genuinely panicked, in how his control over the vortex was becoming more erratic. The man had gone from wanting recognition to being cornered, and cornered metahumans were dangerous.
Flash clearly saw it too. He stopped advancing, held his ground, and Marcus watched as the hero's posture changed from authoritative to empathetic. It was subtle—a slight drop of the shoulders, hands spread wider, head tilted slightly.
"Okay," Flash said. "Okay, Derek. You're right. I'm not going to rush you. But those people in the vortex—they're getting hurt. Some of them are bleeding from the debris. An elderly man looks like he's having a heart attack. You don't want to be responsible for that. I know you don't."
"I didn't mean—" Derek's voice cracked. "I just wanted people to see. To notice. To—"
"I see you," Flash interrupted gently. "I notice you, Derek. You're fast. You're powerful. And you're scared. All of that is valid. But right now, people are dying. You can change that. You can be the hero who saved them, not the villain who killed them. That choice is yours."
It was a good speech, Marcus acknowledged reluctantly. Compassionate, strategic, hitting the right emotional notes to de-escalate the situation. This Barry Allen knew how to talk to frightened people, how to find the human beneath the power.
And it was working. Derek was wavering, Marcus could see it. The vortex was beginning to slow, the winds decreasing in intensity.
Then everything stabilized.
Derek's shoulders slumped, the fight going out of him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice small and broken. "I'm so sorry. I just—I couldn't control it. I didn't know how to stop."
"It's okay," Flash said, moving forward slowly, carefully. "It's okay, Derek. You're doing great. Just let them down gently, nice and slow. I'll help you."
Together, the two speedsters worked to dissipate the vortex, lowering the trapped civilians safely to the ground. Paramedics rushed forward, checking for injuries while officers secured the perimeter. Derek Simmons collapsed to his knees, exhausted and overwhelmed, while Flash knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder, speaking words too quiet for Marcus to hear.
It was over in minutes. Crisis averted, civilians safe, villain-turned-victim taken into custody with care and compassion rather than force. A perfect Flash save—no casualties, minimal property damage, and even the antagonist treated with dignity.
Marcus watched it all with an expression of professional relief, nodding along with Joe's satisfied commentary about how well it had gone. Inside, however, something cold and sharp settled in his chest.
This was what he was up against. Not just Barry Allen's speed or power, but his fundamental goodness. His ability to see the humanity in people, to offer redemption, to believe in second chances. That's what made him Central City's hero, what earned him the statues and the museums and the unwavering public trust.
It was also what would make his eventual fall from grace so much more devastating.
"Good work out there," Singh was saying to Flash as the hero approached the command post. "That could have gone sideways fast. Simmons okay?"
"Shaken but unharmed," Flash confirmed. "He needs psychiatric evaluation and help controlling his powers, not prison time. This was an accident that spiraled, not malicious intent."
"We'll make sure he gets what he needs," Singh assured him. Then he noticed Marcus standing with Joe. "Flash, this is Detective Marcus Reid, just transferred from Keystone. Today's his first day."
"Welcome to Central City," Flash said, offering his hand. "Sorry your first day included a metahuman crisis. Though I guess that's kind of par for the course here."
Marcus shook the offered hand, feeling the Speed Force connection between them—faint, subtle, but present. Barry Allen didn't seem to notice, too focused on the aftermath of the crisis to pay attention to minor energy fluctuations.
Good. Marcus needed every advantage he could get.
"It was impressive, what you did," Marcus said, keeping his tone respectful and professional. "De-escalating like that. Not everyone would have tried to save the villain."
"Derek wasn't a villain," Flash said firmly. "Just someone who got powers he couldn't handle and made bad choices out of fear. That could happen to anyone." He glanced at Singh. "We done here? I should get back to S.T.A.R. Labs, help Cisco analyze the energy readings from that vortex."
"Go ahead," Singh said. "We've got it from here."
Flash nodded, offered a final wave to the assembled officers, and was gone in a burst of crimson lightning.
Marcus tracked his departure with enhanced vision, watching the trail of Speed Force energy dissipate in the air. Soon, he thought. Soon he'd face Barry Allen again, but not as Detective Reid offering congratulations.
As Chronos, bringing vengeance twenty-five years in the making.
Marcus Reid's Apartment, Central City
October 15, 2024 - 11:34 PM
The apartment was temporary, sterile, chosen specifically because it was unremarkable. A furnished one-bedroom in a mid-range building, the kind of place a detective transferring to a new city might rent while looking for something permanent. It had come with basic furniture, generic artwork on the walls, and absolutely no personality.
Perfect for someone who needed to maintain a cover identity while keeping their true self hidden.
Marcus stood in the center of the living room, still wearing his detective's clothes, and let the mask finally drop. The exhaustion hit him first—not physical, his enhanced metabolism made normal fatigue irrelevant, but emotional. The strain of maintaining Detective Reid's persona for hours, of smiling and being professional and acting like seeing Barry Allen in person hadn't made him want to scream.
He moved to the bedroom, to the closet that appeared normal but had a false back leading to a hidden compartment. Inside that compartment, carefully packed and preserved, was the suit he'd spent two years designing and building.
Chronos's armor.
It wasn't like the suits worn by Flash or other speedsters. Theirs were designed for visibility, for inspiration, for hope. Marcus's suit was designed for intimidation, for efficiency, for war.
The base layer was a carbon-fiber weave infused with Speed Force-conductive materials, allowing him to channel his powers through the entire suit rather than just his body. Over that, segmented armor plates made from a lightweight alloy that could withstand impacts at supersonic speeds. The color scheme was black and silver with accents of blue-white—the same color as his lightning, the same color as the cold fire that had killed him and brought him back.
The helmet was the masterpiece. Full face coverage with white lenses that could switch between multiple vision modes—thermal, electromagnetic, temporal distortion detection. Built-in comm dampeners to prevent tracking. Voice modulator to disguise his identity. And on the forehead, a symbol: an hourglass with a lightning bolt through its center.
Chronos. Master of time and speed. The nightmare from the future.
Marcus ran his fingers over the suit, feeling the material respond to his touch, sensing the Speed Force energy in his body and beginning to harmonize with it. He'd tested it a hundred times in secret, refined every detail until it was perfect.
Tonight would be its baptism by fire.
He'd planned to wait, to establish himself at CCPD first, to gather intelligence and choose his moment carefully. But seeing Barry Allen in person had changed something. The rage that Marcus usually kept carefully controlled had surged to the surface, demanding satisfaction, demanding that he act.
Besides, what better way to establish Chronos's presence than a dramatic first appearance? Let Central City—let Barry Allen—know that a new player had entered the game.
Marcus began to strip off his civilian clothes, replacing them piece by piece with the armor of his true identity. Each component locked into place with satisfying precision, the suit coming alive as it synced with his Speed Force signature. By the time he pulled on the helmet, Marcus Reid had ceased to exist.
There was only Chronos now.
He stood before the full-length mirror in his bedroom, studying his reflection. The figure looking back was something from a nightmare—inhuman, dangerous, radiating menace. No one looking at this would see Detective Marcus Reid, friendly cop and Joe West's new partner.
Good.
Chronos closed his eyes and reached for the Speed Force. Not tentatively, as Marcus Reid had to do to avoid detection, but fully, completely, pulling as much power as his body could channel. Blue-white lightning erupted around him, arcing between the armor plates, crackling in the air with a sound like breaking reality.
The apartment disappeared in a burst of temporal distortion.
Central City - The Waterfront
October 15, 2024 - 11:47 PM
The Flash ran his patrol route with practiced efficiency, checking the usual trouble spots, responding to police band alerts, maintaining the visible presence that helped keep Central City safe. It was routine, almost meditative—the world reduced to wind and speed and the rhythm of his feet hitting the ground faster than sound.
He was thinking about Derek Simmons, about how to best help the young man control his powers, when every instinct he'd developed over years of superhero work suddenly screamed danger.
Barry stopped mid-stride, coming to a halt on top of a warehouse overlooking the river. The air felt wrong—charged with energy that made his skin prickle, humming with Speed Force resonance that was simultaneously familiar and utterly alien.
"Cisco?" Barry tapped his comm unit. "You reading anything weird on the Speed Force sensors?"
"Define weird," Cisco's voice crackled back. "Because I'm seeing a massive spike in temporal distortion energy near your location. Like, off-the-charts massive. Are you—"
The lightning struck before Cisco could finish.
Blue-white energy exploded across the waterfront, and suddenly Barry wasn't alone. Standing thirty feet away, wreathed in crackling Speed Force lightning that was the wrong color, wrong frequency, wrong everything, was a speedster Barry had never seen before.
The suit was impressive—advanced, militaristic, designed for combat rather than inspiration. Black and silver armor that looked like it could take serious punishment. A full helmet with white lenses that glowed with internal light. And on the chest, etched in blue-white lines that pulsed with energy, an hourglass symbol with a lightning bolt through its center.
"Who are you?" Barry demanded, already slipping into a combat stance. The Speed Force around this newcomer felt dangerous, unstable, like standing next to a bomb counting down to detonation.
The speedster tilted his head, studying Barry with an intensity that felt predatory. When he spoke, his voice was distorted by the helmet's modulator, stripped of humanity and left with only cold purpose.
"I am Chronos," the speedster said. "And I am your worst nightmare, Flash."
Then he moved.
Barry had fought speedsters before. Reverse-Flash, Zoom, Savitar—enemies who pushed him to his limits and beyond. He knew what to expect from speedster combat: the impossible speeds, the tactical use of momentum, the split-second decisions that meant the difference between victory and defeat.
But this was different.
Chronos was faster.
The first blow came from Barry's left, a strike that he barely managed to phase through. The second came from behind before Barry could fully solidify, clipping his shoulder and sending him spinning. The third, fourth, fifth came in rapid succession from impossible angles, each one forcing Barry to push his speed higher just to avoid being hit.
They fought across the waterfront in a blur of red-gold and blue-white lightning, moving so fast that the world around them seemed frozen. Barry threw everything he had into the fight—speed punches, sonic waves, lightning tosses, every technique he'd developed over years of being The Flash.
Chronos countered them all with contemptuous ease.
"Is this the best Central City's hero can do?" Chronos's distorted voice taunted as he caught Barry's fist mid-punch and twisted, sending Barry tumbling across the pavement. "I expected more from the great Flash. The legend. The symbol of hope."
Barry rolled to his feet, breathing hard. This was bad. Chronos wasn't just faster—he was more skilled, more precise, fighting with a level of training and experience that suggested this wasn't his first speedster battle.
"Barry!" Cisco's voice was frantic in his ear. "Whatever that thing is, its Speed Force signature is off the charts! It's pulling directly from the source, not channeling through a conduit like you do! You need backup!"
"No time," Barry gasped, barely dodging another impossibly fast strike. "He's too fast, Cisco. Faster than Savitar. Faster than Zoom. Faster than anyone I've faced."
"Then run!" Cisco urged. "Get out of there!"
Barry tried. He turned, pushed his speed to maximum, and ran.
Chronos was waiting for him three blocks ahead, arms crossed, head tilted as if disappointed.
"Running?" Chronos said. "How heroic."
He attacked again, and this time there was no holding back. Chronos moved with lethal intent, each strike designed to maim or kill. Barry found himself purely on the defensive, using every ounce of his speed just to stay alive.
They crashed through buildings, across rooftops, through the streets of Central City at speeds that left destruction in their wake. Barry tried to fight back, tried to land a solid hit, but Chronos anticipated every move, countered every attack, and slowly, methodically, began to dismantle The Flash.
A punch to the ribs cracked bones. A kick to the knee tore ligaments. A palm strike to the chest sent Barry flying through a wall and into an abandoned factory floor.
Barry struggled to stand, his healing factor working overtime but not fast enough. Blood dripped from his nose, from cuts on his face where Chronos's strikes had landed. His vision swam, concussion setting in despite his enhanced durability.
Chronos walked toward him slowly, blue-white lightning crackling around his armored form, taking his time. The message was clear: this wasn't a fight. It was an execution.
"Twenty-five years," Chronos said, his distorted voice heavy with something that might have been grief or rage or both. "Twenty-five years I've waited for this moment. To stand over you. To make you feel the fear and helplessness that I felt."
"I don't know you," Barry gasped, trying to buy time for his healing factor to work. "Whatever you think I did—"
"You murdered my parents," Chronos interrupted, his voice dropping to something cold and deadly. "October 15, 2049. You came to our home. You killed them while I watched. Do you have any idea what that does to a child, Flash? Watching their hero, their idol, the symbol of everything good and just in the world, commit cold-blooded murder?"
Twenty-five years in the future. Barry's mind raced, trying to understand. "That wasn't me," he said desperately. "I would never—"
"NOT YET!" Chronos roared, and suddenly he was on top of Barry, vibrating his hand to lethal frequency and pressing it against Barry's chest. Right over his heart. "You haven't done it yet, but you will. Twenty-five years from now, you'll become the monster I saw that night. And I came back to this timeline to make sure that future never happens. By killing you before you can transform into that thing."
Barry felt his heart stutter as Chronos's vibrating hand began to phase through his costume, through his skin, reaching for the organ that kept him alive. This was how Reverse-Flash killed—reaching into someone's chest and stopping their heart. And Barry, weakened and battered, couldn't phase fast enough to counter it.
"I'm sorry," Barry managed to gasp. "Whatever happens in the future—I'm sorry. But killing me won't change anything. It'll just create more pain. More victims. Don't—don't become the monster you think I'll be."
"Too late," Chronos said. "I became a monster the night you made me one."
His hand was almost through Barry's ribcage, seconds from reaching his heart, when the lightning bolt hit him from the side.
Yellow lightning.
Chronos was thrown backward, his concentration broken, his lethal strike interrupted. He rolled to his feet in an instant, ready for the new threat, and found himself facing a young woman in a yellow speedster suit, her face set in determined fury.
"Get away from my dad," Nora West-Allen snarled.
XS. Barry's daughter from the future, operating in this timeline alongside Team Flash. The one person Chronos hadn't accounted for in his calculations.
"Nora," Barry gasped, his healing factor finally starting to close the wound in his chest. "Run. He's too fast—"
"I don't care," Nora said, yellow lightning crackling around her. "Nobody hurts my dad."
She attacked with the reckless courage of youth and desperation, throwing everything she had at Chronos. And for a moment—just a moment—she held her own. Nora was fast, trained by Barry himself, fighting with the fury of someone protecting family.
But she wasn't fast enough.
Chronos caught her mid-strike, held her suspended in a temporal stasis field that froze her in place. He studied her with those glowing white lenses, head tilted in what might have been curiosity or recognition.
"Nora West-Allen," Chronos said softly. "Barry and Iris's daughter from 2049. I remember you. You were at the Flash Museum the day before..." He trailed off, and something in his stance shifted. "You're just a kid. Barely older than I was when—"
He released her abruptly, the stasis field dissolving. Nora stumbled back, shocked and confused.
"Chronos—" she started.
"This isn't your fight," Chronos interrupted. His voice had changed, lost some of its lethal edge. He looked at Barry, still struggling to stand, then back at Nora. "Not yet, anyway. But it will be, if I don't stop him here."
"You're from the future too," Nora said, realization dawning. "That's why you know my name. Why you—what happens? What does he do that makes you hate him so much?"
Chronos was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, and the pain in his distorted voice was palpable.
"He kills people who matter. People who can't defend themselves. People who trust him." He looked at Barry. "You're a hero now, Flash. Everyone loves you. Everyone trusts you. But something changes. Something breaks you. And when it does, you'll become the worst kind of monster—the kind that wears a hero's face."
"That won't happen," Barry said firmly, despite his injuries, despite the fear. "Whatever you saw—whatever future you came from—I won't let it happen. I'll never hurt innocent people."
"You don't get to make that promise," Chronos said. "Because you don't know what will drive you to it. What you'll lose. What you'll become."
He stepped back, blue-white lightning beginning to crackle around him again. "Consider this a warning, Flash. I came back to kill you, and I almost succeeded tonight. Next time, there won't be interruptions. Next time, I'll finish what I started."
"Wait," Nora called out. "If you're trying to save people—if you're trying to stop something bad from happening—we can help! We can change the future together!"
Chronos laughed, a bitter sound that echoed strangely through the voice modulator. "You want to help? Tell your father to enjoy the time he has left. Because I'm going to tear down everything he's built. His reputation, his legacy, his life. By the time I'm done, everyone will see him for the monster he truly is."
"Who are you?" Barry asked. "Please. If you're from the future—if you know what happens—help us prevent it instead of trying to kill me."
For a moment, Chronos seemed to consider it. Then he shook his head.
"My name is all you need to know. I am Chronos. I am your past sins come back to haunt you. I am the future's revenge made manifest." He looked at Nora one more time. "Stay out of my way, kid. I don't want to hurt you. But I will if you interfere again."
Then, in an explosion of blue-white temporal energy, he was gone.
The silence that followed was deafening. Nora rushed to Barry's side, helping him stand, her hands shaking as she saw the extent of his injuries.
"Dad, we need to get you to S.T.A.R. Labs. You're hurt bad."
"I know," Barry said, his voice rough with pain and something else—fear, maybe, or the first stirrings of despair. "Nora... do you know anything about this? About what happens in 2049? About—"
"No," Nora said quickly. "I don't know anything about anyone's parents being killed. That's not part of the timeline I know. Which means..."
"Which means he's from a different future," Barry finished. "One that may not exist yet. One he's trying to prevent by killing me before it can happen."
"Then we stop him," Nora said fiercely. "We figure out who he is, what really happened, and we fix it. Together. That's what we do, right? We fix bad timelines."
Barry wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that there was a solution to this that didn't involve his death or the death of Chronos's parents. But he'd seen the hatred in the other speedster's stance, heard the pain in his distorted voice, felt the lethal intent in every strike.
Chronos had come to kill him, and he'd almost succeeded. Next time, Barry might not be so lucky.
"Come on," Barry said, letting Nora support him as they began the slow journey back to S.T.A.R. Labs. "We need to tell the team. We need to figure out who Chronos is and what we're dealing with."
As they ran—slowly, given Barry's injuries—he couldn't shake the image of Chronos standing over him, hand vibrating through his chest, promising death and vengeance for crimes Barry hadn't committed yet.
And the terrible question that haunted him: what if Chronos was right? What if, twenty-five years from now, Barry Allen really did become a monster?
Marcus Reid's Apartment
October 16, 2024 - 12:43 AM
Marcus sat in his dark apartment, still wearing the Chronos suit, hands trembling with adrenaline and something else. The fight had gone exactly as planned—he'd proven his superiority, established his threat level, and delivered his message to Barry Allen.
But then Nora West-Allen had appeared, and everything had become complicated.
He remembered her from before, from the future that no longer existed. A bright, enthusiastic girl who used to visit the Flash Museum, who'd been one of the few people to talk to Marcus after his parents' death, who'd tried to cheer him up with stories about her father's heroics.
She'd been kind to him. And tonight, he'd threatened her.
Marcus pulled off his helmet with shaking hands and stared at his reflection in the darkened window. The face looking back was still Marcus Reid—same features, same eyes, same man. But he felt different now. Changed. As if putting on the Chronos armor and attacking Barry Allen had crossed some line he couldn't uncross.
He'd almost killed a man tonight. Would have, if Nora hadn't intervened. Would have reached into Barry Allen's chest and stopped his heart, just like the future Barry had stopped Marcus's heart twenty-five years ago.
The symmetry was perfect. The justice was absolute.
So why did he feel so hollow?
Marcus's phone buzzed—his work phone, the one Detective Reid carried. A text from Joe West:
"Hope you're settling in okay. Tomorrow we'll start you on the Wilson case—robbery gone wrong, perp might have metahuman abilities. Welcome to Central City, partner. Glad to have you on the team."
Partner. Team. Welcome.
Words that meant belonging, acceptance, trust. Words that Marcus would betray every time he put on the Chronos suit and continued his mission.
He typed back a response: "Thanks, Joe. Looking forward to working with you. See you tomorrow."
Then Marcus set the phone down, closed his eyes, and let the weight of what he'd started settle onto his shoulders.
This was just the beginning. One attack, one warning, one demonstration of power. There would be more. Many more. Until Barry Allen was dead or broken or both, until the future where he became a killer was erased from possibility, until Marcus's parents were avenged.
No matter the cost.
Even if that cost included betraying the first person in twenty-five years to treat Marcus like he mattered.
Even if it meant becoming the very monster he claimed to be fighting against.
Even if it meant losing what remained of his humanity in pursuit of vengeance.
Outside, Central City slept, unaware that a war had just begun. A war between past and future, between vengeance and justice, between two speedsters who were both victims and villains in their own ways.
And in the morning, Detective Marcus Reid would wake up, put on his suit and his smile, and go to work with Joe West, pretending that he hadn't spent the night trying to murder Joe's son.
The game had truly begun now.
And no one could predict how it would end.
END OF CHAPTER 2
Word Count: 4,521
Next Chapter Preview: Barry and Team Flash analyze the Chronos attack, discovering disturbing details about his Speed Force connection and his claim about the future. Meanwhile, Marcus's first full day as Joe's partner tests his ability to maintain his cover when every conversation about "that Chronos guy" cuts deeper than expected. And when a metahuman case forces Marcus and Barry to work together, the lines between enemies and allies blur in dangerous ways...