There are times when everything seems to slow down, even his own movements. Indeed, there are times when it seems that he is slowed more than others, though he knows this isn’t really the case. He has to choose his battles, he knows, cannot fight every instance of wrongdoing. And there are times when the lines are blurred. When one has been betrayed, is it wrong to end the life of the traitor? If that life was sworn to the betrayed party, is it less wrong?

Those are the questions that went through the Crimson Flash’s mind as he left the Inn and ran. It was not the first time he had witnessed a death, nor the first time he did nothing to stop it. He decided that the deceased in this case had entered into an agreement which she knew could end with her death. She was aware of the consequences of her actions, and proceeded regardless, and so it was not his place to save her life. Those who enter into intrigues take their lives into their hands with their eyes open. It was not the same as those he helped on the streets and in the alleyways. Besides, the magic that had been used to end her life was something which even his speed could likely not do much to stop.
Such are the rationalizations that one makes, when one sees pain and does nothing.

He ran. Better to find someone he knows he can help, someone he can believe guiltless in the events leading to their situations. A builder working late slipped and fell from a ledge, and was caught and set on his feet. A boy was set on by a gang for wandering into the wrong place, and was pulled away to safety.

He let one life end, but saved two others. He was sure at least one of them would have been lost, had he stopped the death in the Inn. Likely, he would not have gotten to either of them, as he would not have been driven by his guilt to run (assuming he would even have been successful in his efforts). He wondered if it would be enough, as he returned, knowing it wouldn’t be. He would go out to run again, later, and would probably not get any sleep that night. Rhy’Din was a big city, and there were always those in need or in danger.

He hoped he would be able to help enough people to not feel ashamed any more. Or, at the least, become tired enough that it wouldn’t matter enough to keep him from sleep.

The thief had an energy weapon. This was a problem, because some energy weapons are much faster than the Crimson Flash (he may be faster than a bullet, but he isn’t fast enough to outrun light). Since Crim is no expert on energy weapons, he had to play it safe. Which meant staying back and doing nothing, for the time being.

It had been a relatively slow day and he was heading back to the inn when he heard the shouts. Turning a corner, he saw that the door to a jewelry store had been blown off its hinges, and two men wearing masks were inside. One was filling a bag with all the gold and platinum he could fit, and the other was aiming the gun at a stout man who was undoubtedly the proprietor of the store. His finger was on the trigger, and Crim didn’t know if he would be able to reach him before he fired.
The thieves hadn’t noticed him, so he shifted to the side, allowing only one eye to pass the edge of the window, and watched. The one with the gun seemed too intent on watching their captive to pay attention to much else. The other practically had dollar signs (or would, if that symbol had any meaning to most in Rhy’Din) in his eyes as he emptied cases of rings, necklaces, and the like. Once, this second one looked up, as though feeling eyes on him, but Crim ducked out of view for a moment, and the thief’s eyes were back on his glittering loot when he looked back through the window.

“Where’s da safe?” The one with the gun was prodding their captive in the stomach with the weapon. “I know you gots one around here.”
“Y-y-yes, I do…it…it’s right over here,” the owner stammered, as he moved to a painting on the wall and slid it aside. “Do you want me t-t-to open it?”
The thief jabbed the man in the back. “O’course I do. You t’ink I just wanted ta look at da thing?”
“Oh! Er…right. I mean, I just wanted to…well. J-just a moment.” A shaking hand rested on the dial for a moment, and he muttered numbers as he turned it. It took two tries, but he swung open the door and stepped aside. “Th-there you go. Take whatever you want, just p-please, don’t hurt me.”
“Yeah, yeah. Do as yer told, I won’t need ta hurt ya.” He reached into the safe with his free hand, pulling out the bags of gold coins and stuffing them into the pockets of his coat. His attention was in the safe, though he cast glances at the store owner from time to time, and his finger loosened on the trigger. It was the opportunity Crim had been waiting for.

Leaping over what was left of the door, he raced across the room. A hand planted against the counter sent him over it, feet striking the floor as he reached for the armed thief. The gun was pushed up, and a jab left the man sprawling to the floor. Weapon snatched from the air, and handed to the startled shopkeeper, Crim turned toward the other thief, who had dropped his bag of loot and was running out the door.
The owner of the store had gotten the gun trained on the thief at his feet, by this point, and Crim turned to him. “I’ll be back in a jiff,” he said, when the man looked his way. By the time the man finished a nod, Crim was outside. The second thief was smart enough to get out of sight of the shop as fast as he could, but there was only one alley he could have reached, and it was a dead end. Crim walked to it, and darted across the entrance. A burst of light shot out, burning the brick of the building across the street. Another energy weapon.
Kneeling, Crim plucked up a few stones from the ground. The building adjacent to the alley was low, one story, and he was easily able to toss a stone over it. When it stuck something in the alley, the telltale energy discharge could be heard. Crim smiled under his mask, throwing the other stones over. After the first landed, he came around the corner. The thief had his back to him, and was firing blasts at random into the darkness at the end of the alley. It was a simple matter to step up and strike the man on the back of the head, knocking him cold.

He ran to the watch, leaving the thief lying before some startled patrolman. A moment later, he returned with the other thief and their weapons. A salute was cast to the guard, and he was off.

Crim liked to walk the streets, sometimes, at a slow pace in his civilian identity. He would just wander, breathing in the city, and let his thoughts drift. Usually, this would be because his thoughts were at an unpleasant place, and he needed them to move on. When running, he had to focus, and that usually left his thoughts stuck where they were, stagnant.

He was thinking about limitations this night, as he left the inn, footsteps light on the cobbles. He knows that he cannot save everyone, had accepted that, but he felt he should be able to help his friends, those he cares about. Particularly when he is right there, mere yards away, when they are placed in danger.
He'd even had to stand aside, feeling useless. He hates that feeling.

A shout was heard, and he was forced to set aside his thoughts, for a moment. A trio of ruffians was advancing on a young girl, their intentions obviously not honorable, in an alley he was passing. He reached into a pocket for his spare mask, plain and red, and pulled it on. He keeps this one with him, for times exactly like this, when he needs to change into costume quickly. The rest of his costume fits easily under his civilian clothing, but the lenses and wings on his usual mask got in the way. Gloves were pulled on, and his loose overshirt was tossed to the side to reveal the tight-fitting red and gold, as he dashed into the alley.
One of the girl's assailants was taken by the shoulders, and thrown face-first into a wall. While he stumbled back, the second was elbowed in the nose, breaking it. By this time, the third had turned toward the scarlet speedster, and he received a stomp to one foot and a backhanded punch across the side of his head. The first was swept off his feet, caught a heel to the chest, knocking the wind from him. The third was grabbed, thrown into the second, and by the time any could recover, the three were tied together with nylon cord. That done, he walked back for his overshirt, and slipped it over his head, though he left the mask on for the time being.
A hand was offered to the girl, and he saw her home, chatting amiably on the way.

Once a few blocks away from the girl's home, he glanced around and pulled off his mask, stuffed it back into pocket. He had been given a lot to think about, having mentioned his doubts to the girl. She couldn't have been older than sixteen, but she was surprisingly insightful.
She had pointed out to him that some hurts, no matter how painful they might be when they are received, are small hurts in the long run. These hurts, they make a person stronger, and no one should be shielded from all possible injuries. A person, she said, could only deal with life if they knew what to do when they got such little hurts.
When he pointed out that the one who had been hurt had been before, and worse, she just smiled and pointed out that pain is a part of life, no matter what is done to avoid it, and that a life with no risk is boring and meaningless. He did what he could, within reason, she said, and he didn't pretend to be able to do more. She asked him, while giving him a kiss on a fabric-covered cheek by way of thanks at her door, what else did he want?
Crim didn't have an answer for that, and he considered it as he walked.

Of course, the reason he took those walks is to let his thoughts wander, and he forgot about the question soon enough.

Instead, he thought about his secrets. There was more than one, and each could be considered to be pretty big. One, he was sure had been made obvious enough to no longer be considered a real secret, but there was another that tied in closely, at least to his mind. He wondered how wise it was to keep this second thing secret. He had been asked for a secret recently.
Of course, one of his secrets was that he wore the mask (or, depending on how one looks at it, what the face under the mask was), but it would be silly to reveal that, now wouldn't it?

It was late (or very early) when he got back to the inn, his walking having taken him on a meandering path from one end of the city to the other and back again. Perhaps he was becoming nocturnal after all.

*((this post takes place from late on the night of March 19 until the very early morning of March 20))

The Crimson Flash left the inn, in a black mood. Gone was the cheer of the last two nights. He had his reasons for this, but there is no need to examine those.

It had not taken him long to find the kind of situation he had made the red tights for. A gang of street toughs was advancing on an elderly couple, seeking to rob them of their coins, if not their lives. There were eight of them, with knives and chains and clubs. Facing down an old man and his wife, both unarmed. Brave types. He decided to move slowly for them.
“A bit old for a fraternity hazing, aren’t they, boys?”
That got their attention. As one, eight scowling faces turned his way, and fifteen eyes narrowed (one of them was wearing an eye patch). Knives glinted, chains twirled, and clubs slapped against palms. The dance began.

The first one to reach him swung a chain, aiming low at his legs. A nimble hop and he was over it, bending back to let the knife wielded by the next to glide by harmlessly above him. When his feet hit the ground, the chain was coming back, so he let it hit one forearm, frowning as it wound around his wrist. A gloved hand closed over it, and the thug was pulled by his own chain, a knee to the solar plexus stunning him.
Crim brought the chain up, now that the thug’s grip had slackened, and it struck his second opponent under the chin, wrapped up, and the heavy links slammed into the man’s temple. He fell.
The chain swung out again, wrapping around the neck of the first one, who was only now regaining his breath. A tug, and the man was spun around, gasping, and the chain was discarded. Crim jumped, both feet rising to press against the man’s upper back, and he kicked off. In this time, the rest had divided into two groups of three, coming toward him from opposite sides. The man stumbled into one of these groups, and Crim was moving for the other once his feet touched down.

Crim thought about what he was doing, and he understood that he was taking his frustrations out on these gang bangers. He felt bad about it, but he consoled himself by remembering that they would have done worse to the couple, who he could feel watching him.

This trio included the man with the eye patch, who swung a club. It would have shattered ribs, had they been there to meet it. Instead, it met empty air, and the man was hammered with two fists on the same side as his patch. He fell.
The other two had knives, and one of these threw one with deadly accuracy. A hand shot out as Crim turned, and the blade was caught between two fingers. A snap of his wrist sent it back, blade sinking into the space between cobbles at the man’s feet.
While that man looked down, Crim moved to the other knife-wielder of the trio. The knife glinted in the light, and the wrist holding it was caught, pulled down, and the arm cracked over a red-wrapped knee. A heel came down to crush toes, before a scream could build, and he fell.
The other had gotten a new blade, his first still quivering in the cobbles. He advanced, and Crim was behind him. A blow to the back of the head, and the man staggered, and Crim was before him. He was thrown to the ground, and the scarlet speedster looked to the others.

This brutality is wrong, he thought. They’re violent, sure, and deserve to be taken down violently, but not this much so. He’s not just stopping them. He’s breaking them. That’s not what the red and gold is for. He needed to calm down. Coming at them like this, it’s just making things worse.

Four left, one of which was winded. He was first. Another strike to the stomach, and a jab to the jaw, and he fell.
The other three had chains. One hung back, while the other two came forward. Hands shot out, arms crossing. One chain was caught, the other was caught, and he pulled. One let go, and his chain slammed into the other’s ribs as that one was pulled toward it. He stumbled, and both chains dropped to the ground. A booted foot swept behind his legs, pulled into the back of his knees. He fell.
A half-dozen strikes on the next, between his stomach and face. A hand on his shoulder, and he was thrown down.
The last man dropped his weapon and ran, and while Crim had taken up a chain to throw after him, he stopped, sighed, and peered down at his hands. The chain fell.

His shoulders drooped as he looked to the couple, who were staring at the seven unconscious thugs with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to see that, folks. I don’t know what came over me.” They left while he checked over the fallen, making sure none had any particularly critical injuries. Another sigh, and he walked off, feet dragging.

“Sometimes I feel a little mad.
Well, don't you know that no one alive
Can always be an angel?
When things go wrong I seem to be bad.
But I'm just a soul who's intentions are good…”
-The Animals. “Please Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood.”