"Sir, we have reason to believe that Aspen is going to become a possible threat." Roberts was one of the few men Adams had to work with that he actually liked. He did the job, and did it well. His desk was spotless, and if not for the fact that the man got results, Adams would suspect he spent more time on being neat and ordered than he spent on the job.

"What has he been doing?" Adams stepped over to Roberts' desk, leaning leaning over the seated man to peer at his reports. "We've decided to overlook most of his aggression so long as he keeps it to this backwards city."

"That's just it, sir. The men looking over the implants' recordings have noticed that he has been discussing travel." Roberts shuffled some papers, managing to draw out the relevant report without ruffling the neat edges of the stack. "He has apparently decided that Rhy'Din is too boring for him. He hasn't mentioned travelling off-world, yet, but at least one of the people he's been discussing travel with is known to have the ability to open gateways between worlds."

Adams took the page from the other agent, gaze scanning the words. "We may need to take him out of the picture." He spoke softly, mostly to himself. "His intentions have been admirable, but if he plans to bring his particular brand of vigilantism back home..." He trailed off, shaking his head, then looked to Roberts. The man had been coordinating the information coming from both of the speedsters. What there was of it. "And the other one? Have the tech boys figured out why the nanites ceased to operate as they promised they would?"

Roberts shook his head, fingers withdrawing another page. "They've gotten a transmission or two a week, but it's brief. They're sure he was off-world for a period of at least a few months, and they think something happened to him during that time. Looks like part of the transmissions were boot processes." He lifted his gaze from the page, to look at his superior. "Only way that would happen, they said, is if they've been unable to draw power. Or some technomancer or techokinetic has been mucking about, but they don't believe that to be the case."

Adams nodded. "We never did figure out where his power came from. Maybe whatever caused it is wearing off." He glanced over the paper for a moment, then nodded once more. "Bring in Aspen. If we can't convince him to remain here, we may need to neutralize him."

Roberts slid his papers back into place. "If I may say so, he doesn't seem to be the sort that would be easily persuaded."

"I doubt he will be. We're going to try anyway."



((Note: because a number of men in black will be in this thread, their dialogue will all be in dark blue text.))

((Adams' profile is archived here.))

The Crimson Flash had not worn his costume for some time, with his speed apparently waning. Richards, like all of those in the agency assigned to him, knew who he was under the mask, and felt no need to be subtle in this case. He went to Crim's home and waited outside.

When the speedster (or, perhaps, soon to be former speedster) stepped out, he did not look happy to see the man in black, who moved to stand directly in front of the taller man. Crim glanced both ways down the street, frowning faintly, then rested his back against the wall and peered at Richards. ?Who are you??

?My name is Richards. I believe our mutual acquaintance, a Mr. Freddie Aspen, may have mentioned my organization.?

?You're with the spooks that...? Crim trailed off, eyes narrowing. ?What do you want??

Richards smiled, though there was no genuine cheer in it. He apparently liked putting people like this off-balance. ?Direct. I can appreciate that. We need to talk.?

Crim crossed his arms over his chest. ?I'm listening.?

?Mr. Aspen has become a bit of a liability. He was planning on taking a trip off-world and, frankly, an uncontrolled man with powers like his showing up on my home world is precisely the sort of thing we're here to anticipate and prevent. We had to neutralize him, and I came here to let you know why. I decided it would be best if we discussed this now, instead of letting word filter down to your ears. As I'm sure it eventually would.? He was thinking of the wizard in Roberts' report, who surely had seen Aspen's display of speed.

Crim scowled. ?Neutralize.? It wasn't pronounced as a question, but the intent was clear enough. An explanation.

?Neutralize, yes. He tried to run off, and we had to stop him. He's alive, mind you. Just in our facility, under observation.?

?And you're here to tell me he was dangerous, which is why you did it.? Crim glared at the man in the suit. ?Afraid I'd retaliate??

?If you weren't becoming slower, yes.? Richards nodded, pleased with Crim's look of surprise at his guess. ?Actually, you've never given us much cause for concern, to be honest. You seem to be happy here, as much as you can be, and have shown no interest in coming to my home world.?

Crim's lips were pressed thin. ?And you're just going to tell me he's alive, then leave, yeah? No chance you'd let me visit him??

Richards grinned, wry amusement reaching his eyes. ?You may not be as fast as you once were, but we're under no illusions. You can still be dangerous. If we decide it would be safe for you to meet with him, we will let you know.? That said, he turned and walked away from the waning speedster.

Meanwhile.

?He seems to be resigned to the fact that he'll be staying here. I think the shock of having his legs taken out from under him has done wonders to make him docile. Psychologically speaking, that is.? Roberts was speaking to Adams in the latter man's office. He looked back over his shoulder, when there was a knock on the door.

?Good. If he doesn't resist us too much, we can at least make him somewhat comfortable. And maybe learn more from him, eventually.? Adams paused for a few moments, watching the door, before speaking again. ?Enter.?

The door opened, and Kline stepped in, a few papers in his hands. ?Sir, you asked us to let you know whenever we had activity on the nanites...? He paused, looking between the two other men.

?Is your phone broken, Kline? I don't need you to run over here whenever one lights up.? Adams was annoyed at the interruption, and he didn't bother to hide it.

?Well, no, sir, but, um...? Kline took a steadying breath. ?This isn't like it has been for the past few months, since the subject came back from where ever he had been. There was a boot process, of course, but it wasn't just a portion of the nanites this time. It was all of them. And they've stayed on, much longer than the few seconds here and there we've gotten used to.? He let that sink in, hoping his superior would understand the significance.

Adams understood. He stood up. ?They're staying lit? He's getting his powers back.? Adams exchanged a look with Roberts, then turned back to Kline. ?Coming straight here was the right call. Anything else of note?? He held out one hand for the papers Kline carried, and looked down to page through them.

?Well, yes. It seems that the nanites are drawing, um, more power than they did before. The amount of energy being input has gone up, incrementally, over shorter and shorter periods of time. It was every few seconds at first... When I left the lab, the power they were drawing was rising every hundredth of a second.?

?He's getting even faster? How? What are the nanites reporting?? Adams looked to Kline, one brow rising.

?Er. Well, sir, we're not really sure. There's some unusual brain activity, which may account for it, and he's been repeating something to himself, over and over. It's not coming through clearly, though it seems to be a series of numbers and letters. Perhaps a formula of some sort, but we haven't determined what it could possibly be a formula for.?

Adams glowered. ?I thought those nanites would be able to tell us exactly what he did and said. They've picked up whispered conversations before, so why not now??

Kline swallowed audibly. ?The only explanation that we've come up with is that, well, they're getting too much power. We designed them to operate at a lower power input than he was giving them before, because we were working with what we knew about Mr. Aspen, and to adjust accordingly when the level of power they receive changes. But they're being overloaded faster than they can compensate. When his power levels plateau, they should come back online with their full capabilities.?

?After he's done doing whatever he's doing.? Adams' voice was dangerously quiet. He was about to speak again, when his phone rang. With a small sound of irritation, he snatched it up and snapped into it. ?Adams. Yes, he's here, and he's been telling me that-- What? Yes, of course. He's told me about all that's useful, anyway.? He put down the phone, narrowing eyes on Kline. ?I've just been informed that your nanites are failing. Burning out, your assistant said. You should probably go down there. And. Find. Out. Why.? These last few words were ground out between his teeth, and Kline practically fled from the room.

Roberts stood up, looking from the open door back to Adams. ?Sir, did you want me to look over what information they've been able to get??

Adams considered that, then nodded. ?Do that. Maybe you can make sense of something there. We need to know why--? He practically growled when the telephone rang again. ?Adams. What is it now? Michaels, calm down and speak clearly.? The order was spoken through clenched teeth, and Adams saw Roberts tensing up. The man knew something was wrong. ? What? Damn it. Keep him busy.? He slammed down the phone and looked to the other man. ?He's here.? Roberts' eyes widened as Adams picked up the phone again, punching the button for the PA system. He heard his voice coming from the speakers outside his office, distorted and on a slight delay.

?All combat ready agents, move out to Zone A immediately. Maximum force is authorized. Repeat. Combat ready agents to Zone A. Maximum force. We need to put this down fast. All non-combat and non-essential agents report to transport and prepare for evac. Prep self-desctruct sequence for five second delay and place on standby. Repeat. Non-combat and non-essential agents prepare for evac, prep self-destruct for five seconds and place on standby.? He paused for a moment, scowling. ?This is not a drill.?

As he stood on the building across the street from the one Richards had gone into, the Crimson Flash went over what he knew of these people. He knew that they were good at what they did, that they had technology superior to most of what he'd seen in Rhy'Din or on Earth, and that they were smart. They'd taken out Freddie, and for all he knew those tiny shocks he'd felt may have been their attempt to do the same to him. If they were hunting speedsters, he couldn't just sit by while it happened. Whether they considered him a threat or not, he decided to get Freddie out of there.

He considered subtlety, then went for a more direct approach. He was a blur as he shot down the side of the building and across the street. There was a sonic boom, kicking up dust from the road, half a moment before his shoulder hit the door. It was reinforced steel, but at the speed he was moving he may as well have been a runaway truck. His aura protected him from the high-speed impact, as it always did, and the door buckled. It didn't fly off its hinges, but the lock shattered, and he planted one hand on the door and stepped in as he pushed it open.

There was a receptionist sitting behind a desk to his right, staring at him with her jaw slack. She wasn't wearing the black suits of the men who had taken Freddie, so he guessed she was civilian. Crim turned dark eyes on her, narrowing. ?I don't think you want to be here.? It had been a while since he'd spoken with that rough voice, intended to help the mask distort it more, and it came out even harsher than usual. The receptionist blinked, closed her mouth, and ran out past the battered door. Crim was already turning toward the hallway in front of him, and he didn't notice her press a button on her way.

The hall was stark, plain off-white walls with the occasional steel door. He glanced through the little windows on the doors, apparently all leading to storage rooms. Files and equipment filled every room. He was paused by one which was dark, attempting to glean something from what little light got in through the window, when the first agent got to him, and he was knocked off of his feet.

He recovered from the tackle quickly, planting his palms on the floor and pushing himself back, sliding out from under the burly man. As he got to his feet, the other man slammed fists the color of granite into the floor, sending spiderweb cracks across the tile, stood up, and charged. Crim was ready for him this time, and sidestepped the charge while spinning, catching the man by one shoulder and sending him sprawling down the hall. He charged himself, then, as the man was rising to his feet once more, and lowered his shoulder. The man flew down the hall, bounced off the ruined steel door, and landed sprawled in the street.

As Crim watched after him, to see if he was going to come back, he heard a click from behind him. He crouched for a moment, then sprang upward. The speed in his legs carried him straight through the ceiling tile, raining bits of it into the hallway, and he clung to a support tucked away between the ceiling and the floor above while gunfire rang out below him. He crawled forward, while the shooter's ears would still be ringing. Once his own ears recovered, he stopped, digging into one of his costume's hidden pockets for one of the coins he always kept there. He hadn't worn the costume in months, and luckily he hadn't thought to remove the coin, which he flung back toward the hole in the tile's he'd made when he'd jumped. He overshot it, and a moment after it hit one of the metal beams, the tile under it shattered under more gunfire. He was past the shooter.

With a kick, he broke the tile under him, then dropped down, facing the back of another man in a black suit. He heard a shout of alarm behind him, and darted forward, grabbing the shooter and rolling onto his back in one fluid movement, throwing the man into the group which had massed farther down the hall. Then he turned, and ran straight for them.

The Crimson Flash sighed, as much as he could wrapped in that ice, and closed his eyes. He'd been fast, but sloppy, and now he'd probably wind up in the same predicament as Freddie. The agents of the second line, and some from the first, were gathering around him. He started to shiver, and dark eyes snapped open as he thought of something that might get him out of the ice. He shook harder, making his muscles quiver as quickly as he could. He could feel the ice against him start to get warmer, just barely. Crim tensed up every muscle in his body, made them shake, and felt water running over him. He was burning oxygen, which he didn't have much of inside the ice, but he pushed as hard as he could, and he heard a crack. He saw the short man's eyes snap open, just before the ice shattered, flying away from him.

Crim dropped to his knees, gasping for breath, while shards of ice knocked down two agents, piercing one's shoulder and another's side. The one who had made the ice fell without needing to be struck. Crim looked up, and saw the agent who had thrown fire walking toward him, raising her hand once more. He lifted one arm, flapping his hand like a fan, and saw the agent's hair move back in the wind he was producing. As he drew in much-needed oxygen, he felt stronger, and moved his hand faster, just as she threw more fire at him. His wind caught it, and it turned back at the agent, setting her clothes alight. She screamed and ran towards him, a human torch, and dove, past him, onto the pile of melting ice, where she stayed, steam hissing up from where the flames had been.

Crim scrambled to his feet, boots sliding on the icy slush on the floor. The agents still surrounding him all held guns, and seemed hesitant to use them lest a shot miss the speedster and strike one of their fellows. He regarded them for a moment, then lunged for the one who was standing closest. The agent's arm was knocked up, and his weapon discharged before it slipped out of his hand. Crim spun the agent around and shoved him across the slick floor, scattering the agents who were just beginning to move after him. They weren't yet prepared to fire, hadn't managed to adjust their aim, and he was between them before they had time to. Rapid jabs to their fingers, some strikes nearing the speed of sound, sent their weapons spinning away, and he grabbed two startled agents by their coats, pulling them down behind him and leaving them on the floor to slow the others. Any hindrance would help.

He darted back and forth across the room to various doors as he advanced, searching for where prisoners might be kept. When he felt the acid on his glove reach his skin, he snatched the glove off and flung it aside, and in the momentary distraction ran into a wall he couldn't see. He stepped back, blinking, then peered past the invisible barrier. A few yards away was the agent who had been hovering, on his feet now, and he was holding both hands out, palms forward. He pushed on the wall, and saw the agent's hands move, slightly, as though the man was compensating for the pressure. Crim smirked under his mask, and threw a barrage of punches at the invisible barrier, striking it dozens of times a second. The agent looked strained, then his arms jerked back and he fell to his knees. Crim ran past him, and heard a voice on the PA system.

?All agents report to transport for evac. Repeat. All agents report to transport for evac.?

The agents who were still on their feet grabbed those who were not and dragged or carried them toward a large door to one side of the room. Crim watched them for a moment, then continued on past where the telekinetic agent had stood. A glass door stood in front of him, with a series of glass doors visible in the hall behind it. A single punch, thrown at the speed of sound, shattered the first door, and he ran into the holding cells. One door was open, the occupant apparently having either escaped or been released during the evacuation. The next room was the only one with an occupant still inside: Freddie, staring slack jawed at the door.

A week later. A world like Earth.

Richards was wearing a black button-down shirt, untucked, over blue jeans. He cast a lot of looks around him, surreptitiously, as he approached a small cafe, where he quickly found Roberts, who was still wearing a suit, but one of navy blue, with a gray shirt, and no tie. Roberts took a look around, himself, then nodded to Richards, who sat across the table from him. ?Any tails??

Richards shook his head, grinned, and unbuttoned his shirt. The red tee shirt under it was old and faded, but much of the white circle was still there, and the yellow lightning bolt bisecting it at an angle could just barely be made out. ?No. He doesn't suspect me. He chalked the Flash following me up to incompetence, not subterfuge. After all, I'd have to be an idiot to wear that suit while trying to lose someone surrounded by medieval peasants.? He chuckled. ?Suspended for a couple of weeks, and demoted. Free, though. Same with Kline.?

Roberts gave the other man a stern look, upon seeing the red shirt. ?Richards...? He sighed, then, and shook his head. ?He wouldn't like it if he saw that.?

Richards shrugged. ?He already thinks I'm a fool. And he won't see it, probably, anyway.? His smile faded as he leaned forward, elbows resting on Roberts' table. ?So, what kind of losses did we take??

Roberts smiled, faint and brief. ?If you believe it, none. Everyone made it out alive. We've got a few agents in serious condition, but they should all pull through. Morales is making the rounds to make sure. And it's taking some time to call in everyone who was outside of HQ when it happened.? He took a sip of his coffee. ?He didn't kill anyone. We pulled it off, Rick.?

?Good.? Richards took a look around, less professionally this time, and took a deep breath. ?It's good to finally be home.?

Roberts nodded. ?It is. Adams says it will take at least six months to get enough equipment through to set up shop again. That is, if nothing else goes wrong.?