Reverse-Flash Task Force - Part 3
Title: Reverse-Flash Task Force
Characters: The Renegades (Simon Slaytor/Mirror Monarch, Lance Allen/Commander Cold, Jim Jefferys/Trixster, Marten Moore/Weather Warlock, Michael Rayner/Heatstroke, Randall Dennison/Top)
Words: 16103
Summary: Reverse-Flash Task Forces have to come from somewhere.
Warnings: Canonical character death
AN: So, I'm not sure how many people actually know who the Renegades are. They're from Professor Zoom's (Eobard Thawne's) time, created to stop him, though they're pretty new at all this when we see them (just before the reboot). I would've liked to see more with them in, but I doubt we're going to get that any time soon, given who the new Reverse-Flash is.
Anyway, I decided to try and explore their characters a little. What kind of people does it take to make a Reverse-Flash Task Force? Are we talking Justice League or Suicide Squad? What are they like out of uniform? I've done my best to avoid other people's views of the Renegades, so as to keep mine as solid and consistent as possible.
Well, anyway, here's my interpretation of one possibility.
Extra AN: We don't get given the names of the Renegades in the Dastardly Death of the Rogues arc, so obviously I've had to make up my own for them. I'm afraid that they're not very 25th century (I couldn't come up with names like Eobard or Simogyn), but as an aid to remember which Rogue they're representing I've tried to keep to similar names.
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Part1, Part2, Part3
Artist: melinie17 (All pictures together: http://melinie17.livejournal.com/714.html)
Lance's alarm sounded and he slapped it off with a well practised move. He sat up groggily and noted that the other side of the bed was empty. A shame, but not completely unexpected. Lance pulled on some underwear and made his way into the kitchen.
To his surprise, Marten was there, drinking a cup of coffee. Marten looked like he'd been up for hours and had taken a shower too. Unfair that he looked quite so handsome there, while Lance was unshaven and his hair was sticking up on end.
“You sleep like the dead,” Marten said, “I wasn't expecting that, if I'm honest.”
“So I'm not a morning person,” Lance said gruffly, he gestured at the kettle, “Enough for me in there?”
Marten nodded and Lance prepared himself a mug, waving off Marten's attempts to help. He'd seen the tar that Jim drank, R&D guys tended to like their coffee strong enough to stand the spoon in. Even if his bleary morning coffee usually ended up not quite right, it was still better than trusting someone from R&D to do it.
“You've got a nice place,” Marten said, “Spacious. I didn't really appreciate it last night, but you've got a great view too.”
And the mention of last night reminded Lance why he was talking to his co-worker in his kitchen while wearing just his underwear.
“Last night,” Lance said. Marten tensed up, but let Lance finish, “Was that a one-time thing?”
“I'm...” Marten squared his shoulders determinedly and met Lance's gaze, “I'd like a relationship. With you. I like you and I think we could make this work.”
Lance tapped his fingers on the side of his mug, as all the reasons it would be a terrible idea ran through his head. “I can be stubborn,” he finally said.
“I once spent three solid days on a tricky firing mechanism,” Marten said.
“It could cause some problems with the Task Force,” Lance said.
Not to mention draw attention from the Perpetuate, a group attempting to ensure the continuation of the human race by seeking to end relationships that had no chance of producing offspring. Lance had had to break up their mobs before, it was never pretty.
“Only if we let it,” Marten said, “And I'm not going to.”
“Relationships... aren't exactly my forte,” Lance admitted.
“Then we'll take things slow,” Marten said, “Lance, you could give me a hundred reasons why this is all going to hell and I'm still going to want to try it.”
Lance took a long drink to put off his reply for a few moments. “If you're sure...”
“Absolutely,” Marten said.
“Because you're quite a looker,” Lance said, “And I don't want you settling for me when you can get someone better looking and less of a loose-cannon.”
“I think you're underestimating your own appeal,” Marten said with a smile, “So that's a yes then?”
“...yes,” Lance said, “Yes, I'd like to try a relationship with you.”
Marten's smile widened. “Brilliant.”
--------------------
Jim was the only other person there when Marten and Lance arrived at work. Marten set up at his lab table and tried to ignore the knowing grin on Jim's face opposite him.
“Someone got lucky last night,” Jim said in a sing-song voice.
“Quiet,” Marten warned.
“It's about time,” Jim carried on regardless, “Any longer and I would've had to chuck you in a pleasure house to save your libido.”
“Shut up,” Marten hissed.
“It was dying,” James said dramatically, “Then finally, finally, someone came to sweep you off your feet and get you laid.”
“I'll have you know I did some of the sweeping,” Marten muttered, then, in the hopes of getting Jim to switch topics he added louder, “Can we focus on the equipment? I came up with several ideas yesterday.”
He did, but not as far as Marten had hoped for.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Jim said, “You propositioned him? I mean, I know you did the asking with the drinks and all, but you acted on behalf of your under-developed libido?”
“Why do you...” Marten put his head in his hands and groaned, “You made a bet, didn't you?”
“Just a little one,” Jim said, completely unabashed.
“How much?” Marten asked. If he could ignore that it was a bet about him he'd be fine. Jim had made loads of bets over the years and Marten usually found out in one way or another.
“Well, I've got twenty from Randall and Mike. They thought you wouldn't do anything or had already been doing something, respectively,” Jim said, “But I've lost a tenner to Simon. I thought you wouldn't have the balls to be the propositioner and he thought the same about Lance.”
The whole ignoring thing wasn't going all that well.
“Why do I put up with you?” Marten wondered out loud.
“Because you need someone witty, charming, and handsome for everything you can't be,” Jim said with a grin.
Simon arrived with a handful of reports and a holographic display of today's newspaper. He shoved all of it at Lance, before making his way over to Jim with a cocky smirk. Marten decided he didn't want to watch the payoff of the bet and left them to it, instead going over to check the newspaper.
“'The Renegades'?” Marten read out, frowning at the bright picture of all six Task Force members under the bold headline, “'Armed with weapons of the long-since deceased Flash's enemies, are these people truly the heroes they want us to believe they are? While none can deny the actions of the Renegades during the fiasco at the Links, the fact that they have chosen criminals' weaponry doesn't invite confidence in their motives. Frederico Lane has more on page 4...' Wh- what? Renegades?”
“Precinct One need to get their act together,” Lance snarled, “They could've stopped this, it's only one reporter's photo and word. What happened to the element of surprise?”
Marten privately wondered if this was Precinct One's retaliation for Lance's rant yesterday, then dismissed the notion. Surely that was too petty for Precinct One.
Marten flicked forward to the later page and skim-read through the rest of the article. It was mostly neutral to positive, with occasional comments on how they could do better. Marten felt surprisingly pleased with it when he finished.
“Like the codenames?” Simon asked. Marten hoped he hadn't just caught sight of Simon tucking some money into his pocket.
“I take it you do, Mirror Monarch,” Marten said. 'Top', 'Trixster', 'Heatstroke'. He supposed 'Weather Warlock' wasn't too bad, though certainly nothing he'd have picked out for himself.
Simon's smile widened. “We need codenames,” he said, “Right, Command Cold, sir?”
“Don't push it, Slaytor,” Lance warned.
“We need codenames,” Simon repeated, “And a group name couldn't hurt. One that's less of a mouthful than The Reverse-Flash Task Force.”
“Renegades implies a disregard for the law,” Lance argued, “We work with the law.”
“You know I'm right about the codenames,” Simon shrugged easily, “And we'll have to make a statement.”
Lance sighed, but didn't disagree.
It was only when Simon and Lance had moved on to practise with their weapons some more and Marten was heavily engrossed in wiring together a voice-activated cold blast that he remembered the newspaper had only used 'Cold' for Lance's Renegade name.
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A statement made by Mirror Monarch and the Top of the 'Renegades' dated 23/8/2468:
“The Renegades will be serving the city to protect it from the crime that the police force doesn't have the equipment and training to cope with. Regarding the accusations that the Renegades will bring more super-criminals out of the woodwork, we would ask people to remember that Professor Zoom has been a threat for many years before the Renegades existed.”
--------------------
Unfortunately the second big missive Simon received from Precinct One a week later was much less interesting than the previous mission briefing. Simon dumped the pile of papers on the desk and snagged a copy to flick through while he was waiting for the others to arrive. Blah, blah, security issues, blah, blah; he'd seen all this before. Being a cop had required him to sign several of these a year.
Randall was next in the room. Judging by the jackets Simon had seen in the coat cupboard Lance and Marten were in, though probably in the training rooms downstairs.
“Is that another mission?” Randall asked, picking up one of the copies to leaf through it.
“Afraid not,” Simon said, “It's the security and background check.”
“What exactly does that check entail?” Randall sounded a little nervous about it.
“Don't worry,” Simon replied, “It's just your usual law enforcement check. You know, to see if you've got any criminals in your bloodline.”
“Oh, that check,” Randall said, though he didn't look any happier about it.
“Hey, if you're that worried about it, you could get someone to look over it for you,” Simon said, “But, seriously, I've signed at least fifty of these and no harm's befallen me.”
Randall gave a weak smile, but didn't look up from the paper. The door opened again, letting in Jim, who was supporting Mike. Simon promptly forgot about the forms to go and welcome back Mike.
“Out already?” Simon said, giving Mike a careful shove.
“Couldn't spend another day in there,” Mike replied with a grin.
The conversation flowed freely as Jim guided them over to his lab bench and started telling the others what he'd been working on. When Simon glanced back to see why Randall hadn't come over too, he couldn't see him anywhere in the room. With a shrug, Simon let himself be drawn back into Jim's excited chatter about new communicators.
--------------------
Deep within the building, in a windowless room, the past played on several projections, showing events from just over five hundred years ago. Nothing changed. Randall knew he needed to sleep, but he was so close to figuring out a way to avoid this. He was good at this job and he was going to help people.
He couldn't if they found out about his ancestor from the twenty-first century.
Randall had checked it several times, both before and after he'd gotten involved with the Task Force. Rory Tork, tried and convicted after Iris Allen stuck her nose in where it didn't belong. Someone else had originally taken the fall and if things could just be made to stay like that, then Rory Tork wouldn't have ever received a criminal record and Randall wouldn't be thrown off the Task Force when Precinct One found out.
If only he could find a reason to go back in time and smooth it over...
An odd flicker on a single projection caught Randall's attention. He frowned as the images played out, differently to how he remembered seeing it last time and differently to the others surrounding it. Randall gave himself a pinch to check he was still awake and replayed it.
The giant mirror shattered and people, no, things emerged and spread out. One faded into the Mirror Master. Another slid inside Iris Allen's body. Fast-forwarding days later, the Flash got confused and desperate and killed Simon.
The question of why Simon was even there didn't cross Randall's mind.
This could be the chance Randall was looking for. He tuned it back to the start of the incident and recorded it onto a separate projector that wasn't linked to the past.
“Have you been here all night?”
Randall jumped and knocked the screen projectors off the table. Simon stood in the doorway, watching Randall with concern clearly printed on his face.
This was Randall's chance.
History appeared to be changing. If Randall could keep the history he'd just seen active, then the Renegades would have the perfect opportunity to go back in time and he could fix the blot on his record.
“There's something you should see,” Randall said, retrieving the recorded-on projector and pulling up the film of the Flash killing Simon.
Simon watched over it, his mouth tightening and the colour leaving his face. His eyes were rooted to the recording, which gave Randall the chance to pick up a powered down projector and judge its weight.
Randall didn't like what he was considering doing, but he couldn't be sure that history would stay still long enough for the events he saw to play out. If he was successful then there would have been no need for him to do what he was considering doing and everything would be back the way it was, with Randall's family history cleaner.
They had Barry Allen's DNA on file. If it came down to it, there existed technology able to simulate the Flash's DNA using a direct descendant's, and why else was Lance on the team?
Randall lifted up the projector in his hand and, feeling ill, swung forward at Simon.
--------------------
“So what d'you think?” Jim asked, as Lance slid on the frames, “There's even a communicator in there too, one of the special ones Precinct One gave us to talk through time.”
The lenses filled in and Lance had to take a few moments to adjust to the rapid display of information. When he didn't move the labels stopped appearing, leaving only a few notes on what the glasses deemed most important objects in the scene he was looking at.
“Did you file yourself in the database as 'witty, charming, handsome, and single'?” Lance said in disbelief.
“Hey, if it's true,” Jim said, grinning, “So they're working. Awesome. Try looking around a bit more.”
Lance turned slowly, letting the AI flag up objects of interest. Its recognition was excellent, though Lance was still surprised that it worked after what Jim had put it through to form the shades.
“You can move faster,” Jim said, “They can handle it.”
“Not sure I can,” Lance muttered, “You got a full set yet?”
“Even with Precinct One's resources, creating enough tantalum-berkelium alloy for the lenses is a pain,” Jim replied, “I've made Marten a pair - he's off testing them now - but Simon and Randall will have to wait. Depending on Marten's analysis of Michael's goggles, we might be able to fix him up the same HUD without needing a full amount of alloy in the lenses.”
“Not bad,” Lance decided. He turned his head quicker and was pleased to see the recognition kept up, “It'll take some getting used to.”
“No worse than the rest of the gimmicks,” Jim said.
“Themes, not gimmicks,” Lance said with a frown.
“I'm the one building them, I can call them whatever the hell I want,” Jim said flippantly.
Lance opened his mouth to argue the point, but the lab door was flung open and Randall ran in. He was wide-eyed and was clutching a projector so tightly his knuckles were white and Lance began to fear for the projector.
“What's wrong?” Lance snapped out. In his experience it was never a good thing when an officer looked like that.
“It's - there's - you've - Simon -” Randall stumbled.
“What's happened to Simon?” Lance demanded, stamping down on his building panic. He automatically reached for his pistol before remembering it was locked in his storage locker on level one. Lance grabbed the cold-gun off the lab bench and started for his coat by the door.
Randall grabbed Lance's arm to stop him. “It's - just watch,” he said, putting the projector down on the bench and flicking it on.
Lance watched the play-back and couldn't muster any emotion through the numbness that filled him. The Flash snapped Simon's neck. Lance knew enough of his history, Flash had snapped Professor Zoom's neck before, so the incident wasn't without precedence.
The play-back hit the end and restarted. Jim reached forward and switched it off. There was a long silence as both Lance and Jim tried to process what they'd just seen.
“This is... this is the sort of thing the Task Force was made to prevent,” Randall said, looking from one to the other, “Isn't it?”
“Where is Simon now?” Lance asked. Locate the potential victim.
“I - he saw it,” Randall replied, “He got one of the time-platforms and -”
“- and it leads to this,” Jim finished, running his fingers over the unlit projector nervously.
“When does this happen?” Lance asked. Determine the time of the hit.
“The twentieth of September, 2010,” Randall said, “Aren't we going to stop it?”
“We will,” Lance said, “And we'll follow protocol. I'll take the case to Precinct One and we'll prepare for departure tomorrow morning.”
“Simon wouldn't follow protocol if his friends were in danger,” Jim said, folding his arms and scowling at Lance, “He'd do what he could to help them as fast as he can.”
“And maybe if Simon had followed protocol for once in his life, he'd still be alive,” Lance snapped. He regretted it immediately as Jim looked like he'd been punched.
“Have fun programming the time-platforms without me,” Jim said sharply, “I'm going to save my friend myself.”
“Jim...” Lance wasn't used to being the one to smooth things over, that's what Simon was for.
“One night's sleep isn't going to hurt,” Randall said, stepping in front of Jim and blocking the door, “Time passing now isn't going to affect the past. Staying together is going to keep any more of us from being killed unnecessarily.”
Jim's shoulder slumped. “I know,” he said quietly, “It's just...”
“Contact Moore and Rayner,” Lance said, “I'll go to Precinct One and get everything cleared. Dennison, you're with me. Bring that recording.”
Randall picked up the projector and waited. Jim turned back to his lab bench and pulled up his pair of HUD sunglasses. Lance rested a hand on Jim's shoulder.
“We can do this,” Lance said, trying to put the determination he didn't feel into his voice.
“Dibs on being the first to tell Simon he's an idiot when we fix things,” Jim said with a weak smile.
Lance gave his shoulder a squeeze then left the room with Randall. It would be alright. It would be alright.
It would be alright.
For some reason Lance was having trouble believing that.
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The next day was a blur of lessons, surprises, and disappointments. It was all the Task Force could do to keep up with the developments and fights.
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Then, just like that, it was over.
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Lance's hands started to shake as he opened the file on the desk in front of him. No. Now was not a good time to break down. It was just like any other report. Just ignore that the victim was a close friend and the murderer was a co-worker.
Just keep the calm of the past day. It was just another report like any other. Lance knew routine well and this was just routine.
The words 'Simon Slaytor' stood in stark bold letters along with 'Randall Denison'. They fell out of focus as Lance's eyes blurred with tears, but the words were stamped in his mind as clear as day.
“Fuck.”
Lance shoved the file onto the floor and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. It was too much on top of the day he'd already had.
An unsympathetic boss and an actively hostile ancestor. The other members of the Task Force needing kept an eye on because of their injuries, lack of field experience causing trouble, or outright treachery. Lance had been holding more than himself together for hours and he was tired of it.
Lance got up and grabbed his coat. He would do the report tomorrow when he had his head on straight. Tonight he was drinking to an old friend.
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“We thought we'd find you in here,” said Jim.
Lance looked up to see Jim drop into the seat opposite him. Michael took the seat on his left while Marten slid into the booth beside Lance.
“G'way,” Lance mumbled into his drink.
“He was our friend too,” Jim said, “Just because we didn't know him as well as you did doesn't mean we don't miss him.”
“Always had a nice word and a smile,” Marten said softly, raising his drink.
“Best of all of us,” Michael said, clinking his glass with Marten's.
“A good man,” Jim said, raising his drink.
Lance stared at them before slowly raising his own glass. “A good friend.”
“Did he ever tell you about the time he set half of our old lab on fire?” Jim asked.
Lance shook his head and Michael leaned forward to hear better.
“It must've been about two years ago now,” Jim started, “We'd just gotten an unusual poison that half the department was fighting for the chance to be the one to analyse it...”
Jim was getting into his telling when Lance felt a hand slip into his own under the table. He glanced over at Marten, who was looking back at him.
“We're here for you,” Marten said, “I'm here for you.”
Lance was finding it very hard to swallow and his eyes were burning. Marten didn't let go, even when Lance's grip must've been starting to get quite painful.
“...and then I'm running about, trying to stop the fire before it reaches the old paper records and Jo's trying to stop the sprinklers before they ruin all our current work. Meanwhile, Simon's on his third fire extinguisher...”
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A statement made by the 'Renegades' dated 30/8/2468:
“Though we have lost two members, the remaining Renegades will be continuing our work to keep the city safe from super-criminal threats. We will not be taking on any new members at this current time.”
Characters: The Renegades (Simon Slaytor/Mirror Monarch, Lance Allen/Commander Cold, Jim Jefferys/Trixster, Marten Moore/Weather Warlock, Michael Rayner/Heatstroke, Randall Dennison/Top)
Words: 16103
Summary: Reverse-Flash Task Forces have to come from somewhere.
Warnings: Canonical character death
AN: So, I'm not sure how many people actually know who the Renegades are. They're from Professor Zoom's (Eobard Thawne's) time, created to stop him, though they're pretty new at all this when we see them (just before the reboot). I would've liked to see more with them in, but I doubt we're going to get that any time soon, given who the new Reverse-Flash is.
Anyway, I decided to try and explore their characters a little. What kind of people does it take to make a Reverse-Flash Task Force? Are we talking Justice League or Suicide Squad? What are they like out of uniform? I've done my best to avoid other people's views of the Renegades, so as to keep mine as solid and consistent as possible.
Well, anyway, here's my interpretation of one possibility.
Extra AN: We don't get given the names of the Renegades in the Dastardly Death of the Rogues arc, so obviously I've had to make up my own for them. I'm afraid that they're not very 25th century (I couldn't come up with names like Eobard or Simogyn), but as an aid to remember which Rogue they're representing I've tried to keep to similar names.
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Part1, Part2, Part3
Artist: melinie17 (All pictures together: http://melinie17.livejournal.com/714.html)
Lance's alarm sounded and he slapped it off with a well practised move. He sat up groggily and noted that the other side of the bed was empty. A shame, but not completely unexpected. Lance pulled on some underwear and made his way into the kitchen.
To his surprise, Marten was there, drinking a cup of coffee. Marten looked like he'd been up for hours and had taken a shower too. Unfair that he looked quite so handsome there, while Lance was unshaven and his hair was sticking up on end.
“You sleep like the dead,” Marten said, “I wasn't expecting that, if I'm honest.”
“So I'm not a morning person,” Lance said gruffly, he gestured at the kettle, “Enough for me in there?”
Marten nodded and Lance prepared himself a mug, waving off Marten's attempts to help. He'd seen the tar that Jim drank, R&D guys tended to like their coffee strong enough to stand the spoon in. Even if his bleary morning coffee usually ended up not quite right, it was still better than trusting someone from R&D to do it.
“You've got a nice place,” Marten said, “Spacious. I didn't really appreciate it last night, but you've got a great view too.”
And the mention of last night reminded Lance why he was talking to his co-worker in his kitchen while wearing just his underwear.
“Last night,” Lance said. Marten tensed up, but let Lance finish, “Was that a one-time thing?”
“I'm...” Marten squared his shoulders determinedly and met Lance's gaze, “I'd like a relationship. With you. I like you and I think we could make this work.”
Lance tapped his fingers on the side of his mug, as all the reasons it would be a terrible idea ran through his head. “I can be stubborn,” he finally said.
“I once spent three solid days on a tricky firing mechanism,” Marten said.
“It could cause some problems with the Task Force,” Lance said.
Not to mention draw attention from the Perpetuate, a group attempting to ensure the continuation of the human race by seeking to end relationships that had no chance of producing offspring. Lance had had to break up their mobs before, it was never pretty.
“Only if we let it,” Marten said, “And I'm not going to.”
“Relationships... aren't exactly my forte,” Lance admitted.
“Then we'll take things slow,” Marten said, “Lance, you could give me a hundred reasons why this is all going to hell and I'm still going to want to try it.”
Lance took a long drink to put off his reply for a few moments. “If you're sure...”
“Absolutely,” Marten said.
“Because you're quite a looker,” Lance said, “And I don't want you settling for me when you can get someone better looking and less of a loose-cannon.”
“I think you're underestimating your own appeal,” Marten said with a smile, “So that's a yes then?”
“...yes,” Lance said, “Yes, I'd like to try a relationship with you.”
Marten's smile widened. “Brilliant.”
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Jim was the only other person there when Marten and Lance arrived at work. Marten set up at his lab table and tried to ignore the knowing grin on Jim's face opposite him.
“Someone got lucky last night,” Jim said in a sing-song voice.
“Quiet,” Marten warned.
“It's about time,” Jim carried on regardless, “Any longer and I would've had to chuck you in a pleasure house to save your libido.”
“Shut up,” Marten hissed.
“It was dying,” James said dramatically, “Then finally, finally, someone came to sweep you off your feet and get you laid.”
“I'll have you know I did some of the sweeping,” Marten muttered, then, in the hopes of getting Jim to switch topics he added louder, “Can we focus on the equipment? I came up with several ideas yesterday.”
He did, but not as far as Marten had hoped for.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Jim said, “You propositioned him? I mean, I know you did the asking with the drinks and all, but you acted on behalf of your under-developed libido?”
“Why do you...” Marten put his head in his hands and groaned, “You made a bet, didn't you?”
“Just a little one,” Jim said, completely unabashed.
“How much?” Marten asked. If he could ignore that it was a bet about him he'd be fine. Jim had made loads of bets over the years and Marten usually found out in one way or another.
“Well, I've got twenty from Randall and Mike. They thought you wouldn't do anything or had already been doing something, respectively,” Jim said, “But I've lost a tenner to Simon. I thought you wouldn't have the balls to be the propositioner and he thought the same about Lance.”
The whole ignoring thing wasn't going all that well.
“Why do I put up with you?” Marten wondered out loud.
“Because you need someone witty, charming, and handsome for everything you can't be,” Jim said with a grin.
Simon arrived with a handful of reports and a holographic display of today's newspaper. He shoved all of it at Lance, before making his way over to Jim with a cocky smirk. Marten decided he didn't want to watch the payoff of the bet and left them to it, instead going over to check the newspaper.
“'The Renegades'?” Marten read out, frowning at the bright picture of all six Task Force members under the bold headline, “'Armed with weapons of the long-since deceased Flash's enemies, are these people truly the heroes they want us to believe they are? While none can deny the actions of the Renegades during the fiasco at the Links, the fact that they have chosen criminals' weaponry doesn't invite confidence in their motives. Frederico Lane has more on page 4...' Wh- what? Renegades?”
“Precinct One need to get their act together,” Lance snarled, “They could've stopped this, it's only one reporter's photo and word. What happened to the element of surprise?”
Marten privately wondered if this was Precinct One's retaliation for Lance's rant yesterday, then dismissed the notion. Surely that was too petty for Precinct One.
Marten flicked forward to the later page and skim-read through the rest of the article. It was mostly neutral to positive, with occasional comments on how they could do better. Marten felt surprisingly pleased with it when he finished.
“Like the codenames?” Simon asked. Marten hoped he hadn't just caught sight of Simon tucking some money into his pocket.
“I take it you do, Mirror Monarch,” Marten said. 'Top', 'Trixster', 'Heatstroke'. He supposed 'Weather Warlock' wasn't too bad, though certainly nothing he'd have picked out for himself.
Simon's smile widened. “We need codenames,” he said, “Right, Command Cold, sir?”
“Don't push it, Slaytor,” Lance warned.
“We need codenames,” Simon repeated, “And a group name couldn't hurt. One that's less of a mouthful than The Reverse-Flash Task Force.”
“Renegades implies a disregard for the law,” Lance argued, “We work with the law.”
“You know I'm right about the codenames,” Simon shrugged easily, “And we'll have to make a statement.”
Lance sighed, but didn't disagree.
It was only when Simon and Lance had moved on to practise with their weapons some more and Marten was heavily engrossed in wiring together a voice-activated cold blast that he remembered the newspaper had only used 'Cold' for Lance's Renegade name.
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A statement made by Mirror Monarch and the Top of the 'Renegades' dated 23/8/2468:
“The Renegades will be serving the city to protect it from the crime that the police force doesn't have the equipment and training to cope with. Regarding the accusations that the Renegades will bring more super-criminals out of the woodwork, we would ask people to remember that Professor Zoom has been a threat for many years before the Renegades existed.”
--------------------
Unfortunately the second big missive Simon received from Precinct One a week later was much less interesting than the previous mission briefing. Simon dumped the pile of papers on the desk and snagged a copy to flick through while he was waiting for the others to arrive. Blah, blah, security issues, blah, blah; he'd seen all this before. Being a cop had required him to sign several of these a year.
Randall was next in the room. Judging by the jackets Simon had seen in the coat cupboard Lance and Marten were in, though probably in the training rooms downstairs.
“Is that another mission?” Randall asked, picking up one of the copies to leaf through it.
“Afraid not,” Simon said, “It's the security and background check.”
“What exactly does that check entail?” Randall sounded a little nervous about it.
“Don't worry,” Simon replied, “It's just your usual law enforcement check. You know, to see if you've got any criminals in your bloodline.”
“Oh, that check,” Randall said, though he didn't look any happier about it.
“Hey, if you're that worried about it, you could get someone to look over it for you,” Simon said, “But, seriously, I've signed at least fifty of these and no harm's befallen me.”
Randall gave a weak smile, but didn't look up from the paper. The door opened again, letting in Jim, who was supporting Mike. Simon promptly forgot about the forms to go and welcome back Mike.
“Out already?” Simon said, giving Mike a careful shove.
“Couldn't spend another day in there,” Mike replied with a grin.
The conversation flowed freely as Jim guided them over to his lab bench and started telling the others what he'd been working on. When Simon glanced back to see why Randall hadn't come over too, he couldn't see him anywhere in the room. With a shrug, Simon let himself be drawn back into Jim's excited chatter about new communicators.
--------------------
Deep within the building, in a windowless room, the past played on several projections, showing events from just over five hundred years ago. Nothing changed. Randall knew he needed to sleep, but he was so close to figuring out a way to avoid this. He was good at this job and he was going to help people.
He couldn't if they found out about his ancestor from the twenty-first century.
Randall had checked it several times, both before and after he'd gotten involved with the Task Force. Rory Tork, tried and convicted after Iris Allen stuck her nose in where it didn't belong. Someone else had originally taken the fall and if things could just be made to stay like that, then Rory Tork wouldn't have ever received a criminal record and Randall wouldn't be thrown off the Task Force when Precinct One found out.
If only he could find a reason to go back in time and smooth it over...
An odd flicker on a single projection caught Randall's attention. He frowned as the images played out, differently to how he remembered seeing it last time and differently to the others surrounding it. Randall gave himself a pinch to check he was still awake and replayed it.
The giant mirror shattered and people, no, things emerged and spread out. One faded into the Mirror Master. Another slid inside Iris Allen's body. Fast-forwarding days later, the Flash got confused and desperate and killed Simon.
The question of why Simon was even there didn't cross Randall's mind.
This could be the chance Randall was looking for. He tuned it back to the start of the incident and recorded it onto a separate projector that wasn't linked to the past.
“Have you been here all night?”
Randall jumped and knocked the screen projectors off the table. Simon stood in the doorway, watching Randall with concern clearly printed on his face.
This was Randall's chance.
History appeared to be changing. If Randall could keep the history he'd just seen active, then the Renegades would have the perfect opportunity to go back in time and he could fix the blot on his record.
“There's something you should see,” Randall said, retrieving the recorded-on projector and pulling up the film of the Flash killing Simon.
Simon watched over it, his mouth tightening and the colour leaving his face. His eyes were rooted to the recording, which gave Randall the chance to pick up a powered down projector and judge its weight.
Randall didn't like what he was considering doing, but he couldn't be sure that history would stay still long enough for the events he saw to play out. If he was successful then there would have been no need for him to do what he was considering doing and everything would be back the way it was, with Randall's family history cleaner.
They had Barry Allen's DNA on file. If it came down to it, there existed technology able to simulate the Flash's DNA using a direct descendant's, and why else was Lance on the team?
Randall lifted up the projector in his hand and, feeling ill, swung forward at Simon.
--------------------
“So what d'you think?” Jim asked, as Lance slid on the frames, “There's even a communicator in there too, one of the special ones Precinct One gave us to talk through time.”
The lenses filled in and Lance had to take a few moments to adjust to the rapid display of information. When he didn't move the labels stopped appearing, leaving only a few notes on what the glasses deemed most important objects in the scene he was looking at.
“Did you file yourself in the database as 'witty, charming, handsome, and single'?” Lance said in disbelief.
“Hey, if it's true,” Jim said, grinning, “So they're working. Awesome. Try looking around a bit more.”
Lance turned slowly, letting the AI flag up objects of interest. Its recognition was excellent, though Lance was still surprised that it worked after what Jim had put it through to form the shades.
“You can move faster,” Jim said, “They can handle it.”
“Not sure I can,” Lance muttered, “You got a full set yet?”
“Even with Precinct One's resources, creating enough tantalum-berkelium alloy for the lenses is a pain,” Jim replied, “I've made Marten a pair - he's off testing them now - but Simon and Randall will have to wait. Depending on Marten's analysis of Michael's goggles, we might be able to fix him up the same HUD without needing a full amount of alloy in the lenses.”
“Not bad,” Lance decided. He turned his head quicker and was pleased to see the recognition kept up, “It'll take some getting used to.”
“No worse than the rest of the gimmicks,” Jim said.
“Themes, not gimmicks,” Lance said with a frown.
“I'm the one building them, I can call them whatever the hell I want,” Jim said flippantly.
Lance opened his mouth to argue the point, but the lab door was flung open and Randall ran in. He was wide-eyed and was clutching a projector so tightly his knuckles were white and Lance began to fear for the projector.
“What's wrong?” Lance snapped out. In his experience it was never a good thing when an officer looked like that.
“It's - there's - you've - Simon -” Randall stumbled.
“What's happened to Simon?” Lance demanded, stamping down on his building panic. He automatically reached for his pistol before remembering it was locked in his storage locker on level one. Lance grabbed the cold-gun off the lab bench and started for his coat by the door.
Randall grabbed Lance's arm to stop him. “It's - just watch,” he said, putting the projector down on the bench and flicking it on.
Lance watched the play-back and couldn't muster any emotion through the numbness that filled him. The Flash snapped Simon's neck. Lance knew enough of his history, Flash had snapped Professor Zoom's neck before, so the incident wasn't without precedence.
The play-back hit the end and restarted. Jim reached forward and switched it off. There was a long silence as both Lance and Jim tried to process what they'd just seen.
“This is... this is the sort of thing the Task Force was made to prevent,” Randall said, looking from one to the other, “Isn't it?”
“Where is Simon now?” Lance asked. Locate the potential victim.
“I - he saw it,” Randall replied, “He got one of the time-platforms and -”
“- and it leads to this,” Jim finished, running his fingers over the unlit projector nervously.
“When does this happen?” Lance asked. Determine the time of the hit.
“The twentieth of September, 2010,” Randall said, “Aren't we going to stop it?”
“We will,” Lance said, “And we'll follow protocol. I'll take the case to Precinct One and we'll prepare for departure tomorrow morning.”
“Simon wouldn't follow protocol if his friends were in danger,” Jim said, folding his arms and scowling at Lance, “He'd do what he could to help them as fast as he can.”
“And maybe if Simon had followed protocol for once in his life, he'd still be alive,” Lance snapped. He regretted it immediately as Jim looked like he'd been punched.
“Have fun programming the time-platforms without me,” Jim said sharply, “I'm going to save my friend myself.”
“Jim...” Lance wasn't used to being the one to smooth things over, that's what Simon was for.
“One night's sleep isn't going to hurt,” Randall said, stepping in front of Jim and blocking the door, “Time passing now isn't going to affect the past. Staying together is going to keep any more of us from being killed unnecessarily.”
Jim's shoulder slumped. “I know,” he said quietly, “It's just...”
“Contact Moore and Rayner,” Lance said, “I'll go to Precinct One and get everything cleared. Dennison, you're with me. Bring that recording.”
Randall picked up the projector and waited. Jim turned back to his lab bench and pulled up his pair of HUD sunglasses. Lance rested a hand on Jim's shoulder.
“We can do this,” Lance said, trying to put the determination he didn't feel into his voice.
“Dibs on being the first to tell Simon he's an idiot when we fix things,” Jim said with a weak smile.
Lance gave his shoulder a squeeze then left the room with Randall. It would be alright. It would be alright.
It would be alright.
For some reason Lance was having trouble believing that.
--------------------
The next day was a blur of lessons, surprises, and disappointments. It was all the Task Force could do to keep up with the developments and fights.
--------------------
Then, just like that, it was over.
--------------------
Lance's hands started to shake as he opened the file on the desk in front of him. No. Now was not a good time to break down. It was just like any other report. Just ignore that the victim was a close friend and the murderer was a co-worker.
Just keep the calm of the past day. It was just another report like any other. Lance knew routine well and this was just routine.
The words 'Simon Slaytor' stood in stark bold letters along with 'Randall Denison'. They fell out of focus as Lance's eyes blurred with tears, but the words were stamped in his mind as clear as day.
“Fuck.”
Lance shoved the file onto the floor and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. It was too much on top of the day he'd already had.
An unsympathetic boss and an actively hostile ancestor. The other members of the Task Force needing kept an eye on because of their injuries, lack of field experience causing trouble, or outright treachery. Lance had been holding more than himself together for hours and he was tired of it.
Lance got up and grabbed his coat. He would do the report tomorrow when he had his head on straight. Tonight he was drinking to an old friend.
--------------------
“We thought we'd find you in here,” said Jim.
Lance looked up to see Jim drop into the seat opposite him. Michael took the seat on his left while Marten slid into the booth beside Lance.
“G'way,” Lance mumbled into his drink.
“He was our friend too,” Jim said, “Just because we didn't know him as well as you did doesn't mean we don't miss him.”
“Always had a nice word and a smile,” Marten said softly, raising his drink.
“Best of all of us,” Michael said, clinking his glass with Marten's.
“A good man,” Jim said, raising his drink.
Lance stared at them before slowly raising his own glass. “A good friend.”
“Did he ever tell you about the time he set half of our old lab on fire?” Jim asked.
Lance shook his head and Michael leaned forward to hear better.
“It must've been about two years ago now,” Jim started, “We'd just gotten an unusual poison that half the department was fighting for the chance to be the one to analyse it...”
Jim was getting into his telling when Lance felt a hand slip into his own under the table. He glanced over at Marten, who was looking back at him.
“We're here for you,” Marten said, “I'm here for you.”
Lance was finding it very hard to swallow and his eyes were burning. Marten didn't let go, even when Lance's grip must've been starting to get quite painful.
“...and then I'm running about, trying to stop the fire before it reaches the old paper records and Jo's trying to stop the sprinklers before they ruin all our current work. Meanwhile, Simon's on his third fire extinguisher...”
--------------------
A statement made by the 'Renegades' dated 30/8/2468:
“Though we have lost two members, the remaining Renegades will be continuing our work to keep the city safe from super-criminal threats. We will not be taking on any new members at this current time.”