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An alert skids over his HUD, visible for less than a second but Wally’s already read it and changed directions. The Central City Museum’s silent alarms are going off, and no one can reach the curator. Something’s happened—the cameras are down in most of the East Wing, and there’s been some form of structural shift in one of the rooms that’s in the middle of switching exhibits.
There’s no other information to be had—no one seems to know what exhibit was getting set up.
He slows his approach slightly, circles the museum, but from the outside there’s nothing notable. Whatever shift that happened in the room isn’t visible from the outside. No damage, no screaming civilians, no ominous glowing. So far, very little seems to be wrong.
Wally enters from one of the side doors, and nearly slams into a wall. The structural shift, Wally notes dryly as he dodges, is much more obvious inside than it is out.
It’s eerily silent in this section of the museum, and even though part of the the East Wing is closed off for the exhibit shift, there should be workers, movers, and curious patrons trying to catch peeks of things as they’re moved in. There’s none of that, and a sharp tension curls though Wally. It doesn’t take long for him to find the center of it all, and it’s less the red glow that leaks out of the door and more the vibrating energy that scrapes across Wally’s skin that lets him know he has the right place.
This room hadn’t previously existed, is located centrally in the East Wing where there was once a large, open area with a domed skylight. A quick check confirms there’s only one door, and while he could vibrate through the wall, he’s not really sure what this energy is, or where it’s located in the room. Vibrating through the wall and immediately exposing himself to whatever the energy is sounds like a great way to get onto the JL’s unofficial Dumbass of the Week board, and he’s got a bet going with Hal that he can stay off it for a whole six months.
He’s four months in, and Hal’s starting to sweat. He can’t stop now.
Still, entering the room through the only door sounds like a trap, and Bruce will give him a look if he has to go over basic situational awareness again, and Wally would rather lose to Hal than sit through that power point again.
(Also! He has situational awareness! He has super speed! He processes things faster than most people could dream of, he’s aware of the risks, he’s just fast enough to avoid most of them, thanks!)
So it’s with caution that he crashes through the door at nearly top speed and scans the room.
Center pedestal. Ominous red gem. Museum worker, hands on the gem, maniacal grin. Five smaller pedestals surrounding the main. The skylight’s intact, light concentrated on the main gem. The smaller pedestals have smaller gems, perfect spheres, which glow inside their glass cases.
Glowing jewelry, gems, and well, glowing things in general aren’t usually good, and Wally does not like the look on the museum worker’s face. He launches towards him, intending on knocking his hands off the gem. He doesn’t like the look of it beyond the glowing—it’s clearly been broken at some point, with hairline cracks that span the surface. Glowing objects that end up breaking usually do so in an explosive way, and he’d rather not deal with that today.
He gets ready to break the guy’s contact with the gem, calculating the angle to hit that will have the gem gently dropping back onto its padded pedestal. Plus the direction he’ll need to direct himself so that neither he nor Manic Grin will run headlong into one of the other ominously glowing pedestals.
Manic Grin hasn’t noticed him, hasn’t reacted, so it’s a complete shock when Wally’s an instant from hitting him and—something shifts. The shadows at Manic Grin’s feet move, and Wally gets the flash of red eyes, green hands and—he goes through Manic Grin, and has to skid to a halt, settling between two of the smaller pedestals with nothing in his arms.
What the hell?
“Well, that’s unusual,” Wally comments to himself.
There’s a figure behind Manic Grin, a woman with green, tattoo covered skin and red eyes, a flowing cloak and a spiky mohawk. She’s hard to focus on, more a shadow than a person, but her stare is direct and hostile.
It’s at that moment that the red gem pulses and the glass cases around the smaller gems explode. The orbs rise from their padded places, and Wally has half an instant to think well shit, before the orbs pulse, expand—
Form.
Red shimmers over their surfaces, staining the various colors of the gems, muddling them, and Manic Grin laughs. Where there were once five orbs, now there’s five people, their eyes glowing red and gazes locked on the gem.
“Yes!” Manic Grin shouts, triumph and glee. “Yes!” he looks over at Wally and laughs harder. “Welcome, hero, to the Freakshow!”
The people—beings?—attack before Wally can whip out a snarky come back, and honestly at this point, the glowing green energy balls that are tossed his way shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s simple to dodge them, to do a circuit around the room to get the lay of the land.
The gem is practically glued to Manic Grin’s hands, the red energy crackling around it like rope. Not so simple as to just kick it out of his hands, then. The new enemies on the field are quite the mismash, and seem otherworldly. It’s the work of a moment to get an idea of the new players. There’s a woman in a bright red skirt suit, a pale biker with an oversized jacket, a woman in a red leather jacket and fishnets, a white haired teen, and—Wally curses, skids, and just barely dodges a fucking rocket.
The last new player is some kind of mech suit with a glowing green mohawk that seems to be more fire than hair.
What the actual fuck did he get himself into?
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Manic Grin says, watching with rapt fascination. “Look at what they can do. Look at what I control!”
“Has anyone told you you’re a bit cree—” Wally has to cut himself off.
A shadow ripples underneath him, manages to get a grip on his leg, but Wally goes down with it easily, dodging another rocket and several green blasts, before rolling and using a burst of super speed to break the shadow’s hold. The shadow darts from broken case to broken case, even as Wally does another circuit around the room. It’s fast, and it’s not the only thing that’s got a bit of speed to it. The red suited woman dogs his steps, and he can feel her gaze burning into his back. She’s clearly waiting for an opening, and with so much to dodge, even as fast as he is, she may well get one.
There’s more rockets, and the shadow pulls at the now empty pedestals, knocking them into Wally’s path. The biker is suddenly in his face, and Wally has to dip to dodge the man’s green edged punch, but it leads him right into the woman in the red leather. He has to switch his weight, and he’s mildly bewildered as she presses a kiss to her hand, blowing it and—a large translucent blue kiss expands outwards, humming with power. He manages to get out of the way, and the kiss slams into the wall with force—and the painting that hung there vanishes.
Note to self, Wally thinks, as he gets a foot up on the wall to flip over the biker, don’t get hit by that.
“Sorry lady!” Wally calls. “I’m flattered but I’m taken!” Nothing. Not even a hint of irritation.
Fucking mind control.
Flipping over the biker puts him face to face with the white haired teen, and Wally has a second to take in the hazmat suit and the symbol that’s branded on the chest before—cold. Ice spears from the teen’s hands, spreads across the ground, and Wally’s on his ass in an instant. He slides, trying to get traction but the ice is utterly smooth, no imperfections to be found. He’s just starting to vibrate his body fast enough to melt the ice when the woman in the red suit pounces.
Her form wavers, slides from human to red-edged shadow, and the glow in her eyes isn’t just from the gem that Manic Grin holds. Something slides around her, unseen but present. Her smile grows teeth.
Ah, something whispers in his head, foreign and invading, crawling through him like claws on flesh. What lovely fears you have, what delicious insecurities.
It’s like being scraped raw, like the sun going out, like the world is ending and he’s helpless, useless, not fast enough, never fast enough, and death lies around him.
His mistakes rise through his memory, and he shudders out a gasp, the ice cold, cold, cold around him, as cold as he feels inside.
Not fast enough to save everyone, a voice tsks, the sympathy edged sharply with disappointment. Not smart enough, either. Fastest man alive, and yet you’re never there, are you? All this power, control over time itself, and yet you only make it worse.
Wally gasps, misery a living weight in him, and it’s not him, he knows. It’s her. In his head, warping his mind, using it all against him and he’s trying to find the light. The good. The triumphs. But it’s like trying to find the light in tar. He’s buried in the dark of it all, and the scrape of nails inside his head becomes more like talons.
“N-no!” someone says, and a flicker of heat flashes over him, and a woman screams. The dark recedes, the grip on his mind eases, and instinct has Wally up and on his feet before anyone else can get ahold of him.
He looks back, and the red suited woman is just getting her feet back under her, while the white haired teen is—frozen, eyes flicking from red to an eerie green.
He’s fighting, Wally realizes.
None of the others are. Maybe they can’t.
“Ah, I forgot how much trouble you are,” Manic Grin says, sounding almost fond. “Such a stubborn mind. Look at how you struggle, how much you fight. Isn’t it easier to just obey?”
The teen gasps, the red gem’s power redoubling, growing—targeting.
Wally twists out of the way of the biker, bounces off two of the pedestals to avoid the shadow, moves fast enough that the rockets the mech suit almost seem to fly backwards and he flicks them off course.
“Sorry kid! But I don’t think red’s your color,” Wally says, right in the teen’s face. The power of the gem is a humming pressure around the teen, who has one hand buried in his hair and the other sputtering with one of the strange green energy blasts Wally’s been dodging since the fight began. The teen blinks at him, face screwed up in a grimace and Wally feels a little bad about this, but—
Well, kinetic resets have worked on mind control before.
He’s still half expecting his punch to go through the teen, but he must be distracted enough to not manage it, because it connects. There’s no sense of bone, no crack of impact, but the hit feels solid nonetheless. There’s no real time to judge though, because Manic Grin’s shout echoes through the room, wordless fury and suddenly there’s a lot of things to dodge.
Green energy blasts around the room, and it takes all of Wally’s speed and flexibility—thank you Dick—to not get hit. The shadow seems to be on overdrive, throwing things into Wally’s path, and doing its best to try and trip Wally up.
There’s more rockets from the mech suit, more giant blue kisses, and all the while Manic Grin is viciously guarded by the mohawk lady.
Anytime Wally looks like he might get close to Manic Grin, she’s there, and the tattoos on her skin are definitely not just for show.
It’s a hard, vicious thirty seconds, and Wally’s really starting to see how lucky he was in getting a punch in on the white-haired teen, because trying to hit any of the rest of them is not going well.
The only thing he’s managed is getting them to hit each other—they aren’t being shy with the rockets or energy blasts, and the red suited woman has taken more than one hit from them.
(Wally’s definitely not biased in trying to take her out first, there’s still something cold and aching inside him from where she’d clawed her way in, and he’s not wanting a repeat performance.)
“This is quite the show you’ve got going,” Wally says as he skids underneath the biker, tries to kick the lady in the fishnets, and barely misses the fucking net the mech suit send flying at him. “care to tell me why?”
“I am Freakshow,” says Manic Grin and honestly, Wally likes Manic Grin better than Freakshow but at least the guy knows. he’s on the odd side. “And I hold in my hands the power to control ghosts, to make the world my circus. Don’t you see? This is only the first act.” Freakshow spreads his hands, the gem tightly gripped in his left, grin wide and eyes bright and wild. “With these ghosts at my command, at my bidding, the world and all it holds is mine.”
“We’ll circle back to ghosts being real,” Wally says, and yeah, yeah, he’s seen weirder but he’s a man of science, and magic and all its mumbo jumbo has its rules and limits too. “And focus on the overdone shtick of taking over the world. Really dude, it’s been done so many tim—”
A burst of speed to dodge the giant blue kiss (that slams into the wall behind him), a roll followed by a jump to dodge more energy blasts, and really this is getting freaking old.
“I would love to be able to hit you!” Wally says, his punch just going through the biker. He’s a little baffled by it honestly, he should be fast enough to hit them before they go intangible, but they may just be keeping themselves intangible. Do they need to be solid to use those energy blasts?
Freakshow lets out a sound of frustration. “I assure you, hero, that my vision is unique—the world is a circus, and I am its ringmaster. I will finally show the world what I can do.”
Wally furrows his brows. “You mean what your magic staff can do—you’re just standing there.”
Rage flares in Freakshow’s eyes, nearly adds color to his pale skin.
Someone laughs.
“He’s got you there, cue-ball,” someone says, and the white haired teens stands up, eyes firmly closed. “Without that crystal ball of yours, you're just a human.”
The taunt must mean more to Freakshow than Wally knows, because Freakshow makes a sound like he’s been hit by a mortal blow, and swings the arm holding the crystal ball towards the teen, the power in it flaring.
The cracks show brighter, but the other—ghosts?—start to converge on the teen.
“Get the crystal!” The teen shouts, and moves like he can see where the—fuck it—ghosts are coming from.
“No need to tell me twice!” Wally says, leaning down to snatch one of the pillows from the pedestals. With a considering hum, he grabs another, spearing towards where Freakshow has the crystal outstretched.
Animals and creatures made of ink spread out around Freakshow, launching themselves at Wally, with their mistress right behind them. Taking a chance, Wally lets go of the pillows and throws some rapid fire punches at the animated tattoos, destroying several.
The woman looks pissed, red eyes flaring brighter. Wally picks up some speed, and runs around her rapidly, causing her cape to go flying and what’s left of her animated tattoos to scatter. Wally breaks from his circle, charging in and—manages a hit, right in her face. It’s not as good of a hit as he’d like, halfway through the punch she goes intangible, and he stumbles a bit from the sudden loss of resistance.
But he’s got a goal, and he’s made it through the guard. He looks up, and with two quick jumps retrieves the pillows he’d thrown. He’s close, and with most of the other ghosts distracted, he should be able to do this.
“Sorry, Central City’s not accepting applications for clowns, but I do know a guy,” Wally says, clapping the pillows around the crystal and using his momentum to pull it from Freakshow’s hands.
At the same time, there’s a flare of bright light, and Wally looks over in time to watch the woman in the red suit get sucked into…is that a soup thermos? Weird, but he’s not exactly sad to see her go.
Not fast enough, whispers in the back of his mind, and Wally firmly shuts it out.
“No!” Freakshow shouts, something crazed in his eyes, his face mired in desperation. “You won’t do this to me again! I will not be made a fool of by-by some two bit ghost!”
The white-haired teen pouts. “Awwww, only two-bit? At this point I thought I’d’ve upgraded at least a little.”
“You’re at least 64 bit,” Wally agrees, carefully shifting his fragile cargo. “You could pass for pixel art, ya know? Very stylish.”
The other ghosts have stopped fighting, and look more than a little confused.
The teen grins at Wally. “Awww, thanks! I do have a vintage look, don’t I?”
“Silence!” Freakshow shouts, furious. “This—this isn’t over! I’m not done!”
The teen’s grin fades, and he straightens up, feet rising from the ground a bit. The other ghosts look like they might be starting to clue into what happened.
“I think you know as well as I do that this is over, Freakshow,” the teen declares.
The biker guy growls, the shadow that had chased Wally baring its teeth over his shoulder. “Kitty,” the woman in fishnets shifts, takes his offered hand. “You okay, my jewel?” he asks, rubbing a thumb over the top of her hand.
“Barely a scratch,” she replies, something predatory in her grin.
“Good,” he says, shifting his full attention to Freakshow. “Because I think we have some business to take care of.”
“Your pelt is safe for now, boy,” the mech suit declares, also looking towards where Freakshow’s standing. There’s sweat beading on the man’s face.
The mohawked woman appears, her stance protective and eyes still deep red.
Wally’s brows furrow. “Is she not free—”
“She was always free,” the teen says. “She works for him.”
Huh, alright. Not who he would have chosen to devote his afterlife too, but there’s no accounting for taste.
“Lydia—” Freakshow says, and the woman’s—Lydia’s—tattoos melt off of her, begin to circle Freakshow.
“No!” The teen shouts. Wally gently sets the pillows down, then slams forward with every ounce of speed he can gather. The world slows, and he can pick out every individual tattoo from the rising tide of them.
Freakshow looks a little calmer, still angry, but Wally can recognize the look of a man who knows he has a way out.
Wally’s almost sad to change that.
Almost.
Wally crashes through the tattoos, goes low, and wraps an arm around Freakshow’s waist, ripping him from the center of Lydia’s grasp. There’s a sound of fury, and with Freakshow in his arms Wally can’t move fast enough to dodge the attack he knows is coming, but can’t see.
A crackle, a sudden wash of cold, and there’s a shadow of something large behind him. Then, there’s a hiss of suddenly melting ice, hits in rapid succession, but nothing comes close to Wally, there’s no sudden bright burst of pain.
Wally and Freakshow land, and Wally spins the other man onto his back and pins him before he allows himself to look back.
There’s a large wall of ice between him and Lydia, with several marks where Wally presumes Lydia’s energy blasts had hit. He can see the teen through the ice, his form distorted but clearly fighting Lydia.
Freakshow’s cursing, Wally can just hear him, and he’s trying to break free, his arms jerking angst Wally’s hold.
“Sorry,” Wally says, smile sharp. “But you’re thin as a stick dude, you’re not getting free.” Still, to be sure, Wally fishes some restraints from his hidden pockets, and tightens them over Freakshow’s wrists. He takes another instant to put some around the man’s ankles too, before turning his attention to the fight happening beyond the ice.
But it looks like he’s not really needed there—the white haired teen is opening that strange soup thermos again, and a large blast from the mech suit has Lydia crashing right into the path of the light that spills from it.
“Lydia!” Freakshow screams. “No! Let her go!”
No one pays him any attention.
“Well, you made my life a lot easier,” Wally comments, before immediately wanting to shove his foot in his mouth. Really? He despairs at himself. My life? They’re ghosts!
Thankfully the teen just chuckles and the rest of the ghosts don’t look offended.
Leather jacket shifts. “Yeah, well, we had a bone to pick.”
Kitty pats the man’s shoulder. “If I had to be mind controlled, at least it was together, Johnny.”
The teen makes a face. “If you two are going to start getting mushy, I’m souping you.”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Don’t get your pants in a twist, punk. We’ll keep it PG for your delicate eyes.”
“Thank you,” the teen says, sounding relieved. Wally takes a moment to zip over to the pillows that hold the crystal, before—carefully—running back.
“I’ll make sure this is contained,” Wally says, keeping it covered. They’re all eyeing the pillows warily.
The teen shifts, biting his lip. It’s such a human gesture. “It’s dangerous. And Freakshow’s probably not the only one who knows about it. I…I can’t keep it safe but…”
But I don’t know if you can either, Wally fills in.
“Listen, um,” Wally looks at the teen. “What’s your name?”
“Phantom,” he says. “I’m Phantom.”
Kitty. Johnny. Lydia. Wally hasn’t heard the mech’s name, nor the chick who got sucked into the thermos, but the rest of them are regular names. Human names. It itches at the back of Wally’s mind, that difference. That distance.
“Phantom,” Wally says. “We’ve got people who specialize in this kind of thing, who know how to contain it. I know you don’t have a real reason to trust me, but we don’t want this getting into the wrong hands anymore than you do.”
Johnny snorts. “Punk, you got a better option?”
“Breaking it again sounds great,” Phantom says, but there’s something doubtful in his gaze.
“It could reform again,” Wally says, because he’d already seen the fracture lines in it. “Or be fixed, or however it’s back in one piece. I can give you my contact information. I can keep you updated on it, and you can make sure it’s still under lock and key. And honestly?” Wally shrugs a little. “This isn’t my area, but if it’s been broken before, Constantine or Zatanna might know how to keep it broken, or make it powerless.”
Phantom lets out a sigh—another gesture that’s jarringly human, for all that Wally hasn’t seen any of them breathe—rubbing his hands over his face. He looks like he’s working out what to say.
But it’s not him that speaks next. “Hesitation doesn’t become you, Whelp. A hunter must not waste an opportunity.”
Wally blinks, not quite following. The look Phantom exchanges with the mech suit confirms he’s missing something.
Phantom’s gaze flicks back to Wally. The look is assessing now, weighing. Wally simply tilts his head, mind running with possibilities. There’s something bigger here. It feels like he’s standing on a precipice, and it’s only a matter of time before something gives.
“Take it,” Phantom says, suddenly firm. “And him,” he gestures to Freakshow, who’s trying desperately to escape his binds. It’s not really working. “I’ve gotta get the rest back, but I’ll be in touch.”
Phantom holds out his hand, palm up. There’s a shiver of cold, and Wally watches as ice forms on Phantom’s palm, coalescing into—Wally laughs before he can help it, watching as Phantom forms a business card out of ice.
“That’s a neat trick,” Wally says. Phantoms offers the card, and Wally takes it. There’s no sense of melting, no slick layer of water forming beneath his warm fingers. The card stays unmarred. Wally digs out one of his own cards, though his is much more mundane.
(It’s cooler than normal cards, considering it’s not made of paper but a mix of several friction-proof plastics coated around high-grade engraved titanium. Still, it’s not thermostable ice, but at least he’s not handing a scrap of paper to Phantom.)
Phantom glances briefly at Wally’s card before with a roll of his hand it vanishes. His smile is a secretive, just left of feral thing.
“I’ve got more,” and it’s simply stated as a fact.
“Somehow I don’t find that surprising,” Wally says. The report he’s going to have to write for this is going to be a wild one. It might make it to the next drinking game night, honestly. “Roughly how long should I wait to reach out? Getting Freakshow locked up won’t take long, but it may be a bit before I can get a hold of anyone who can handle the gem.”
Phantom hums, and those bright, eerie eyes narrow in thought. “Two days or so? It’ll let everyone clear their schedules. We have a lot to talk about.”
That’s the most unsurprising thing Phantom’s said so far.
Wally grins. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m fast at talking,” He nods to the ghosts besides Phantom. “Nice meeting you, hope I don’t have to try and punch you the next time we meet.”
Johnny smirks, and Kitty giggles from under his arm. “Oh, please do, I’d love a rematch.”
“You might be an interesting hunt,” is the mech suit’s verdict, and Wally doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or something he should find alarming. Phantom merely rolls his eyes.
“See you,” Phantom says, vanishing. The other ghosts follow suit.
Then it’s just Wally, in a room that didn’t exist an hour ago, a magic gem wrapped in some pillows, and a furious man who willingly calls himself Freakshow still trying to untie himself.
Wally sighs.
“Mondays.”