Post by Thaddeus Thawne on Aug 8, 2020 6:10:26 GMT -5
Participants: Bart Allen | Thaddeus Thawne
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): All over town
Time of Day: Dusk
Weather: Clear skies with a groovy neon tinge to the air
Summary: When the dead rise from the grave, and Ash Williams is nowhere to be found, who better to smash a zombie’s skull in then Kid Flash?
Society, ambling about on it’s daily agenda. Work from nine to five, a smooth and groovy drive home, perhaps a stop and shop at the local grocery store? A horde of zombies shambling about with little aim or intrigue. Blissfully flocking together like sheep, mindlessly marching off and toiling away to keep the cogs turning. Slaves to those standing higher, slaves to a machine that batters and bullies, slaves to a single aimless routine. That one routine shared by all, a tedious commitment, never ending and terrible. They do the same thing over and over and over again. The same as their fathers, the same as their mothers, same as their neighbors, their sisters and brothers, yet they yearn for something different. A fairytale happily ever after which never comes. They never change, nothing every changes. Insanity, as we know it, is doing the same meaningless mindless task over and over and over but expecting a different result. That is a proverb Albert Einstein preached to mostly deaf ears it seems.
In spite of the hopelessness, in spite of the meaninglessness, in spite of a harsh uncaring universe, in spite of everything! The droll addle brained sheeple were so bliss in their ignorance. It was revolting. In the face of death and degradation Central City, it was so.... Alive. Bustling, and beautiful, and oh so alive. Dusk only seemed to make this more vibrant and colorful, with glistening neon skylines, and happy and hopeful townsfolk going about their normal, humble stupid lives. Disgusting, I know. They were all so alive, and happy. But Thaddeus? He was dead. At least, he was this morning. He was this afternoon. Then, suddenly in the evening? He, too, was alive... Not happy, never hopeful, but alive. Miserable, and alive. Yes, very miserable. It was just one of those days. He was hit by a truck, broke a few ribs, then came a certain... Shall we say? Unpleasantness with some me oh so obnoxious convenient store clerk. He was a literal zombie amidst this swarming amorphous masse of metaphorical zombies.
There are outliers to the machine. Bugs, and jams, and unsightly things which gum up the works. They call it crime, or rabble rousing or what have you. It’s all the same. Someone veers away from the intended path. Someone finally, sick of the pain and anguish, snaps. For that, they call upon their policing system. Crime and punishment. Every dismal city seemed to have its own brand and class of criminal. It was always some twisted reflection of the city as a whole, a reminder of just who the metropolis is. Gotham, for example... It was hideous and decrepit. A damn hellhole. It birthed maniacs, madmen, sick and licentious monsters and creeps which lurched in the darkness and slithered in the shadows. It was guttural and grotesque, therefore so too was it’s crime. Then there was Metropolis. The would-be capital of the world. A pinnacle of everything man had ever known. A monument to everything man would soon know. It was an obelisk to future, a beacon of pride and achievement and technology. With that, comes it’s own brand of horror and chaos. Mad doctors, sophisticated megalomaniacs, and intergalactic tyrants all vying to reap the fruit’s of man’s labor. Finally we have Central City. Unique to the others aforementioned, Central City shared it’s “outliers” with a twin sibling. A lesser creature, known simply as Keystone. They were both sad and pathetic, because in spite of all the cosmic horror and the senseless cataclysms here, there, and everywhere, these decrepit twin cities stood bright and colorful. Hopeful even. With garish hues of red and orange and green splattered here there and everywhere, it was a neon paradise. Reflecting this happy hopeful bumpkin lifestyle, the crime here consisted mainly of “dads with stupid guns.” They were blue collar criminals, you see. So blue collar in fact, that the villains formed a damn workers union. The Rogues Gallery, as it came to be known. They’d always boasted on about some pointless moral code as they basically did the exact same thing as all other criminals. That is, trashing the city and running the system ragged. These are the outliers. The sum of many outliers.
Then of course, there is the aforementioned policing force. Meant to detect, to detain, and remove the outliers. They come to clean up the mess. They make sure society stays in line. Thaddeus Thawne is both an outlier and a policing force. Sent as a policing force to exterminate an outlier, in the process becoming an outlier in this past Stone Age of society.
Policing wasn’t a very cushy job, nor did it pay well, but it wasn’t about that. It was to protect and serve. His duty to the average Joe, and his duty to his friends and family. Keep trash off the streets, and make sure the traffic flowed. Today? Traffic wasn’t flowing so well... Because of an outlier. Because of Thaddeus Thawne.
He stepped out of an black and white Chrysler, shades of purple and maroon shimmering off his sunglasses. Officer Thomas Howell, an older fellow. Gruff, stern, veteran in the CCPD. His boots crunched against dirt and rubble, bits of debris from a crash. For twenty minutes straight there were reports of a flash of yellow and red, followed by swerving cars which crashed and collided off road. Then someone actually hit the yellowish glow. Accidentally crashed into it. A supposed hit and run. Hit and runs happen all the time, not much to note on that end, but... There was something different about this particular case. The guy hit got back up. Needless to say, that doesn’t usually happen. I’m fact, forty years on the force, he’s never seem that happen. It was an absurd notion. Preposterous. ”Come again?” Officer Howell was an older fellow, mid sixties. His most defining feature was a large white mustache, nestled cozily beneath crimson and purple sunglasses. He was stern, and gruff, but kindly. Born and raised in the Ozarks, at a small and cozy lakeside town. He became a sheriff there became a sheriff there too, and eventually fell in love. Settled down, had a beautiful baby girl. He was from the Ozarks, and his wife a slicker from Central City. So, once their little girl grew to be career and college ready, they settled down in the big city. A delight to the little lady, a pain in the ass for the older man.
”Yeah, I dunno... Kid came outta nowhere. Smashed right into the front of my car, then I like, steamrolled right over him.” Howell jotted a few notes down on a notepad, then poked and prodded at the truck with his pen. ”That’s a pretty big dent....” The elderly fellow noted, tracing the dents outline with the back of his pen. It was big, could’ve been from a human. Certainly wasn’t from a rabbit. ”I know! But get this, the kid just gets up! Like nothing happened! And he just... Walks away, real creepy like too. Like the terminator or something.” A few more scribbled etchings into his pad and paper. ”That a fact?”
”How old he look?” Things were mostly settled at this point, but a dirty feeling in his gut said this “victim” was bad news. He didn’t know for sure, but it was a nerve that kept itching in the back of his mind. ”I dunno... Mid teens? Didn’t get a good look at him. He kinda just trailed off.” Teen, most likely injured, he needed more to go off of. ”Mhm. What was he wearin’?” The officer gave an internal groan. In the background his car’s radio began yammering his name. Perfect, more work. ”It was like a unitard, yellow, I guess, and ripped to pieces. Dunno if it was from the hit, or-or if he lost a fight with a badger, or what, but it looked like he just went through war.” Old Tom gave a nod, and without another word marched to his radio.
”Tom? Tom!? When you’re finished there, we’ve got an assault and battery on thirty-fourth street.” A short drive, it was just around the corner actually. He picked up the speaker and cleared his throat ”Come again?”
”Assault and battery on thirty-forth. Suspect is a blonde haired.... Red? Red eyed teen in a ripped yellow unitard.” Ah. The wheels in his head began turning. He hated being right... ”Well, ain’t that something? I’ve got a hit and run victim matching that description.”
”Victim? You know what? Never mind... I don’t wanna know.” Tom’s eyes glanced into the Central City skyline. Smoke swirled in the air, and his gut told him it wasn’t Heatwave. “Mm... Lisa, I got a sneaky suspicion I know where our suspect went.”
”You sure you got this, Tom?”
”Lisa, I’ve been doin’ this s#%£ since before you were born.”
”Tom, I’m a forty year old woman, and you’re older then dirt. Quit y’er b#%$hin’, stop actin’ like a damn cowboy.”
”You should wait for back up, Tom.....” Evidently, he did not.
Truthfully beating on that insufferable cashier was not as fulfilling as he’d hoped. He felt... Empty. Like a void. The anger had subsided, exercised out in that brief confrontation. Without that anger there was nothing. Just, blackness. Just, void. He wanted the anger back, honestly. Just so he could feel, to fill that empty swirling vortex. Desperate for some feeling, any feeing, he tried to force the anger back. Pondering spitefully over how the confrontation needn’t have happened in the first place. He was hungry, damnit. He didn’t have any money to pay for food, nowhere to go for food. So he took it. But that insufferable halfwit just had to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. It was infuriating, but... He didn’t care anymore. The anger wouldn’t come back. He stepped out of the convenience store, limply, quietly. His steps very alien, and very cold. His arms to his side, he walked like a robot. Mechanical and just plain weird. Thaddeus stepped into the streets. Everything felt so... Bizarre. He was there, he was animate, he was... Alive. But he didn’t feel it. Every step felt so distant, every breath felt so far, every blink felt as though they weren’t actually his. This was his body, but he didn’t feel like he was in it. He felt like an onlooker, a third person glaring in at his hair, his body, and his shoes from above. He walked across the street, despondent and utterly uncaring of the cars which swerved off and crashed beside him. He looked to the sky. Dusk was setting in. He could feel the flow of blood coercing through his veins. ”Thaddeus. Your heart rate is fluctuating at abnormal rates. Don’t die again, President Thawne was just notified of your revival.” He was feeling a little anxious... He just wanted some solace. A quiet, calm place. Somewhere to think, somewhere to recollect. He just wanted some peace. ”Craydl, find me the nearest vacant building. I need to think.” Why was he here? Why was he alive? What was his purpose? Why does everything feel so... Wrong? His mind was racing with thoughts and questions, none of which he could answer. Not in this state. Not at this moment. ”Three miles West, city records note of an old abandoned fire trap at Carmine Corner.”
It took less then a second, and God was it hideous... Fire trap was more than accurate. Rickety, wooden, a downright trash heap. There was graffiti and trash and other grotesqueries scattered here there and everywhere. It was terrible, but it’d have to do... He found an old crate and slumped over it, running his fingers through greasy unkempt hair. His mind raced, and for once he could not keep up. He was not dead, he could start with that... Bit he didn’t feel alive either. He never felt alive, let’s file that problem away for later... How about his physical health? Well, he was hungry, but no longer starving. A little parched for thirst, and he felt like complete and utter crap. Wonderful. Everything so far seemed terrible, but... At the very least he was finally alo-”Yo, look at this #%$&en kid!” Damnit.
Thaddeus winced. Why? What’d he do to deserve this? Oh, right. He murdered his lesser genetic copy in cold blood. Fun. How could he forget? The only good thing to ever happen on this miserable hellhole. ”A little creep is what he is...” There were four of them, from all angles. Thaddeus scowled, he didn’t want this. Why!? They were zombies, sub creatures, stupid insufferable parasites. One of the first lessons Craydl tutored him on. Thaddeus shrank a little, quietly looking to the trodden dirt below.
”…”
Humanity is a cancer. What do you do to cancer? You eradicate it. All of it, every ounce of it’s putrid disgusting hideous and horrible self. He had nothing, so he felt nothing. All of the pleasures of mankind, he’d never truly known. So he had no grasp of its meaning. No grasp of genuine hope, no grasp of genuine happiness, all he had was anger. Anger and hatred, swirling inside his chest like a sandstorm. It boiled his blood and ate at his innards. Humanity had no point but misery, misery upon itself and misery upon others. He felt this misery, was forced into this misery. Thaddeus I, his creator, his father, his master. He didn’t ask to be made, but here he was, mostly forgotten and utterly unloved by his own creator. Misery, that is all that life, and all that these wretched putrid and disgusting monsters had to offer. But, then there were others wrought and bound in a similar, and even worse pain. Thaddeus, in his sick and warped mind, garnished some false joy from the thought that someone, any one single person, is suffering or has gone through far worse than him. There was an even sicker part of his mind, that which could arguably be the shriveled remains of his humanity. Merciful and kind but horrific and awful at the same time. A wish, rooted in genuine pity and sadness for life. A horrible horrible horrible wish. He wanted to end misery in the worst way imaginable. To end life, all life. To end life and death. No more life, no more death, no more pain and misery, none would ever have to feel pain again. There would be... Nothing. The void. It was a horrible thought, he knew not to think like that... He suppressed it all with a gulp and stared vacantly and expressionlessly into nothing at all.
”And that dumb costume, too...” These... Dim witted guttersnipes were very quickly reminding Thaddeus why he was a misanthrope. He began to grind his teeth as they poked the metaphorical bear. ”Facts! He looks like an rejected power ranger!” He didn’t want another confrontation. He didn’t need another confrontation. He was a Thawne. He was above mindless violence and these pointless horrible interactions... But every insufferable comment felt like a knife twisting into his liver. ”Well, he went mighty morphin’ in the wrong hood, am I right?” He was a ticking time bomb, ready to burst at any moment. So tempted to explode, so very tempted. He glared at the leader of this insufferable pack, green eyes blazing with fire and hatred. ”I’m not interested in your gangland bull$#!%.”
”That’s a nice watch you got there...........” No.... The boy instinctively put a hand over Craydl. Not him... Never him.... Thaddeus could never live without Craydl... ”Yes, I know. He’s worth more than you’ll make in a lifetime of....” The speedster gestured with a nod of his head to this, s#%$thole building. The graffiti, the garbage, the rubble and debris. These delinquents certainly didn’t aspire for much. ”...This.”
“Hand it over, and we’ll let you go, go, for another day, creep.” Clearly displeased by Thad’s response, the unveiled various forms of weaponry. The leader of the pack had a switch blade, two others slapped a row of chains across their fingers, then finally the last, the quiet one, armed with some alcoholic bottle and cloth soaked in gasoline. The makings of a Molotov Cocktail. He wasn’t evil, he wasn’t an awful person, he didn’t want to be... He was a hero to the Thawne’s. A hero to his family... ”Listen, I’ve had a really rare evening. Back off.” The Molotov cocktail was lit, and the message was clear. ”Last chance, freak. Hand over the watch, or we’ll have Blaze, here, light’chu up like a candle.” He tried being civil, he tried being merciful. The world is cruel, he was determined to be crueler. Electricity sparked around his hands and around his eyes. ”Is that a fact?”
It was a short scuffle. All four delinquents were left unconscious in that burning building (fun toy, that Molotov). Fire engulfed the rafters, and smoke danced in the air and mingled with the clouds. The psychotic little speedster lurched our of the building with a scowl. As... Therapeutic as that may have been, he knew he needed flee the scene as fast as possible... He really didn’t want to deal with with- ”CCPD, hands up.” Perfect. kill me now.
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): All over town
Time of Day: Dusk
Weather: Clear skies with a groovy neon tinge to the air
Summary: When the dead rise from the grave, and Ash Williams is nowhere to be found, who better to smash a zombie’s skull in then Kid Flash?
Society, ambling about on it’s daily agenda. Work from nine to five, a smooth and groovy drive home, perhaps a stop and shop at the local grocery store? A horde of zombies shambling about with little aim or intrigue. Blissfully flocking together like sheep, mindlessly marching off and toiling away to keep the cogs turning. Slaves to those standing higher, slaves to a machine that batters and bullies, slaves to a single aimless routine. That one routine shared by all, a tedious commitment, never ending and terrible. They do the same thing over and over and over again. The same as their fathers, the same as their mothers, same as their neighbors, their sisters and brothers, yet they yearn for something different. A fairytale happily ever after which never comes. They never change, nothing every changes. Insanity, as we know it, is doing the same meaningless mindless task over and over and over but expecting a different result. That is a proverb Albert Einstein preached to mostly deaf ears it seems.
In spite of the hopelessness, in spite of the meaninglessness, in spite of a harsh uncaring universe, in spite of everything! The droll addle brained sheeple were so bliss in their ignorance. It was revolting. In the face of death and degradation Central City, it was so.... Alive. Bustling, and beautiful, and oh so alive. Dusk only seemed to make this more vibrant and colorful, with glistening neon skylines, and happy and hopeful townsfolk going about their normal, humble stupid lives. Disgusting, I know. They were all so alive, and happy. But Thaddeus? He was dead. At least, he was this morning. He was this afternoon. Then, suddenly in the evening? He, too, was alive... Not happy, never hopeful, but alive. Miserable, and alive. Yes, very miserable. It was just one of those days. He was hit by a truck, broke a few ribs, then came a certain... Shall we say? Unpleasantness with some me oh so obnoxious convenient store clerk. He was a literal zombie amidst this swarming amorphous masse of metaphorical zombies.
There are outliers to the machine. Bugs, and jams, and unsightly things which gum up the works. They call it crime, or rabble rousing or what have you. It’s all the same. Someone veers away from the intended path. Someone finally, sick of the pain and anguish, snaps. For that, they call upon their policing system. Crime and punishment. Every dismal city seemed to have its own brand and class of criminal. It was always some twisted reflection of the city as a whole, a reminder of just who the metropolis is. Gotham, for example... It was hideous and decrepit. A damn hellhole. It birthed maniacs, madmen, sick and licentious monsters and creeps which lurched in the darkness and slithered in the shadows. It was guttural and grotesque, therefore so too was it’s crime. Then there was Metropolis. The would-be capital of the world. A pinnacle of everything man had ever known. A monument to everything man would soon know. It was an obelisk to future, a beacon of pride and achievement and technology. With that, comes it’s own brand of horror and chaos. Mad doctors, sophisticated megalomaniacs, and intergalactic tyrants all vying to reap the fruit’s of man’s labor. Finally we have Central City. Unique to the others aforementioned, Central City shared it’s “outliers” with a twin sibling. A lesser creature, known simply as Keystone. They were both sad and pathetic, because in spite of all the cosmic horror and the senseless cataclysms here, there, and everywhere, these decrepit twin cities stood bright and colorful. Hopeful even. With garish hues of red and orange and green splattered here there and everywhere, it was a neon paradise. Reflecting this happy hopeful bumpkin lifestyle, the crime here consisted mainly of “dads with stupid guns.” They were blue collar criminals, you see. So blue collar in fact, that the villains formed a damn workers union. The Rogues Gallery, as it came to be known. They’d always boasted on about some pointless moral code as they basically did the exact same thing as all other criminals. That is, trashing the city and running the system ragged. These are the outliers. The sum of many outliers.
Then of course, there is the aforementioned policing force. Meant to detect, to detain, and remove the outliers. They come to clean up the mess. They make sure society stays in line. Thaddeus Thawne is both an outlier and a policing force. Sent as a policing force to exterminate an outlier, in the process becoming an outlier in this past Stone Age of society.
Policing wasn’t a very cushy job, nor did it pay well, but it wasn’t about that. It was to protect and serve. His duty to the average Joe, and his duty to his friends and family. Keep trash off the streets, and make sure the traffic flowed. Today? Traffic wasn’t flowing so well... Because of an outlier. Because of Thaddeus Thawne.
He stepped out of an black and white Chrysler, shades of purple and maroon shimmering off his sunglasses. Officer Thomas Howell, an older fellow. Gruff, stern, veteran in the CCPD. His boots crunched against dirt and rubble, bits of debris from a crash. For twenty minutes straight there were reports of a flash of yellow and red, followed by swerving cars which crashed and collided off road. Then someone actually hit the yellowish glow. Accidentally crashed into it. A supposed hit and run. Hit and runs happen all the time, not much to note on that end, but... There was something different about this particular case. The guy hit got back up. Needless to say, that doesn’t usually happen. I’m fact, forty years on the force, he’s never seem that happen. It was an absurd notion. Preposterous. ”Come again?” Officer Howell was an older fellow, mid sixties. His most defining feature was a large white mustache, nestled cozily beneath crimson and purple sunglasses. He was stern, and gruff, but kindly. Born and raised in the Ozarks, at a small and cozy lakeside town. He became a sheriff there became a sheriff there too, and eventually fell in love. Settled down, had a beautiful baby girl. He was from the Ozarks, and his wife a slicker from Central City. So, once their little girl grew to be career and college ready, they settled down in the big city. A delight to the little lady, a pain in the ass for the older man.
”Yeah, I dunno... Kid came outta nowhere. Smashed right into the front of my car, then I like, steamrolled right over him.” Howell jotted a few notes down on a notepad, then poked and prodded at the truck with his pen. ”That’s a pretty big dent....” The elderly fellow noted, tracing the dents outline with the back of his pen. It was big, could’ve been from a human. Certainly wasn’t from a rabbit. ”I know! But get this, the kid just gets up! Like nothing happened! And he just... Walks away, real creepy like too. Like the terminator or something.” A few more scribbled etchings into his pad and paper. ”That a fact?”
”How old he look?” Things were mostly settled at this point, but a dirty feeling in his gut said this “victim” was bad news. He didn’t know for sure, but it was a nerve that kept itching in the back of his mind. ”I dunno... Mid teens? Didn’t get a good look at him. He kinda just trailed off.” Teen, most likely injured, he needed more to go off of. ”Mhm. What was he wearin’?” The officer gave an internal groan. In the background his car’s radio began yammering his name. Perfect, more work. ”It was like a unitard, yellow, I guess, and ripped to pieces. Dunno if it was from the hit, or-or if he lost a fight with a badger, or what, but it looked like he just went through war.” Old Tom gave a nod, and without another word marched to his radio.
”Tom? Tom!? When you’re finished there, we’ve got an assault and battery on thirty-fourth street.” A short drive, it was just around the corner actually. He picked up the speaker and cleared his throat ”Come again?”
”Assault and battery on thirty-forth. Suspect is a blonde haired.... Red? Red eyed teen in a ripped yellow unitard.” Ah. The wheels in his head began turning. He hated being right... ”Well, ain’t that something? I’ve got a hit and run victim matching that description.”
”Victim? You know what? Never mind... I don’t wanna know.” Tom’s eyes glanced into the Central City skyline. Smoke swirled in the air, and his gut told him it wasn’t Heatwave. “Mm... Lisa, I got a sneaky suspicion I know where our suspect went.”
”You sure you got this, Tom?”
”Lisa, I’ve been doin’ this s#%£ since before you were born.”
”Tom, I’m a forty year old woman, and you’re older then dirt. Quit y’er b#%$hin’, stop actin’ like a damn cowboy.”
”You should wait for back up, Tom.....” Evidently, he did not.
”Are you done with your temper tantrum, Thaddeus? Or would you like a nap as well?”
Truthfully beating on that insufferable cashier was not as fulfilling as he’d hoped. He felt... Empty. Like a void. The anger had subsided, exercised out in that brief confrontation. Without that anger there was nothing. Just, blackness. Just, void. He wanted the anger back, honestly. Just so he could feel, to fill that empty swirling vortex. Desperate for some feeling, any feeing, he tried to force the anger back. Pondering spitefully over how the confrontation needn’t have happened in the first place. He was hungry, damnit. He didn’t have any money to pay for food, nowhere to go for food. So he took it. But that insufferable halfwit just had to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. It was infuriating, but... He didn’t care anymore. The anger wouldn’t come back. He stepped out of the convenience store, limply, quietly. His steps very alien, and very cold. His arms to his side, he walked like a robot. Mechanical and just plain weird. Thaddeus stepped into the streets. Everything felt so... Bizarre. He was there, he was animate, he was... Alive. But he didn’t feel it. Every step felt so distant, every breath felt so far, every blink felt as though they weren’t actually his. This was his body, but he didn’t feel like he was in it. He felt like an onlooker, a third person glaring in at his hair, his body, and his shoes from above. He walked across the street, despondent and utterly uncaring of the cars which swerved off and crashed beside him. He looked to the sky. Dusk was setting in. He could feel the flow of blood coercing through his veins. ”Thaddeus. Your heart rate is fluctuating at abnormal rates. Don’t die again, President Thawne was just notified of your revival.” He was feeling a little anxious... He just wanted some solace. A quiet, calm place. Somewhere to think, somewhere to recollect. He just wanted some peace. ”Craydl, find me the nearest vacant building. I need to think.” Why was he here? Why was he alive? What was his purpose? Why does everything feel so... Wrong? His mind was racing with thoughts and questions, none of which he could answer. Not in this state. Not at this moment. ”Three miles West, city records note of an old abandoned fire trap at Carmine Corner.”
It took less then a second, and God was it hideous... Fire trap was more than accurate. Rickety, wooden, a downright trash heap. There was graffiti and trash and other grotesqueries scattered here there and everywhere. It was terrible, but it’d have to do... He found an old crate and slumped over it, running his fingers through greasy unkempt hair. His mind raced, and for once he could not keep up. He was not dead, he could start with that... Bit he didn’t feel alive either. He never felt alive, let’s file that problem away for later... How about his physical health? Well, he was hungry, but no longer starving. A little parched for thirst, and he felt like complete and utter crap. Wonderful. Everything so far seemed terrible, but... At the very least he was finally alo-”Yo, look at this #%$&en kid!” Damnit.
Thaddeus winced. Why? What’d he do to deserve this? Oh, right. He murdered his lesser genetic copy in cold blood. Fun. How could he forget? The only good thing to ever happen on this miserable hellhole. ”A little creep is what he is...” There were four of them, from all angles. Thaddeus scowled, he didn’t want this. Why!? They were zombies, sub creatures, stupid insufferable parasites. One of the first lessons Craydl tutored him on. Thaddeus shrank a little, quietly looking to the trodden dirt below.
”…”
Humanity is a cancer. What do you do to cancer? You eradicate it. All of it, every ounce of it’s putrid disgusting hideous and horrible self. He had nothing, so he felt nothing. All of the pleasures of mankind, he’d never truly known. So he had no grasp of its meaning. No grasp of genuine hope, no grasp of genuine happiness, all he had was anger. Anger and hatred, swirling inside his chest like a sandstorm. It boiled his blood and ate at his innards. Humanity had no point but misery, misery upon itself and misery upon others. He felt this misery, was forced into this misery. Thaddeus I, his creator, his father, his master. He didn’t ask to be made, but here he was, mostly forgotten and utterly unloved by his own creator. Misery, that is all that life, and all that these wretched putrid and disgusting monsters had to offer. But, then there were others wrought and bound in a similar, and even worse pain. Thaddeus, in his sick and warped mind, garnished some false joy from the thought that someone, any one single person, is suffering or has gone through far worse than him. There was an even sicker part of his mind, that which could arguably be the shriveled remains of his humanity. Merciful and kind but horrific and awful at the same time. A wish, rooted in genuine pity and sadness for life. A horrible horrible horrible wish. He wanted to end misery in the worst way imaginable. To end life, all life. To end life and death. No more life, no more death, no more pain and misery, none would ever have to feel pain again. There would be... Nothing. The void. It was a horrible thought, he knew not to think like that... He suppressed it all with a gulp and stared vacantly and expressionlessly into nothing at all.
”And that dumb costume, too...” These... Dim witted guttersnipes were very quickly reminding Thaddeus why he was a misanthrope. He began to grind his teeth as they poked the metaphorical bear. ”Facts! He looks like an rejected power ranger!” He didn’t want another confrontation. He didn’t need another confrontation. He was a Thawne. He was above mindless violence and these pointless horrible interactions... But every insufferable comment felt like a knife twisting into his liver. ”Well, he went mighty morphin’ in the wrong hood, am I right?” He was a ticking time bomb, ready to burst at any moment. So tempted to explode, so very tempted. He glared at the leader of this insufferable pack, green eyes blazing with fire and hatred. ”I’m not interested in your gangland bull$#!%.”
”That’s a nice watch you got there...........” No.... The boy instinctively put a hand over Craydl. Not him... Never him.... Thaddeus could never live without Craydl... ”Yes, I know. He’s worth more than you’ll make in a lifetime of....” The speedster gestured with a nod of his head to this, s#%$thole building. The graffiti, the garbage, the rubble and debris. These delinquents certainly didn’t aspire for much. ”...This.”
“Hand it over, and we’ll let you go, go, for another day, creep.” Clearly displeased by Thad’s response, the unveiled various forms of weaponry. The leader of the pack had a switch blade, two others slapped a row of chains across their fingers, then finally the last, the quiet one, armed with some alcoholic bottle and cloth soaked in gasoline. The makings of a Molotov Cocktail. He wasn’t evil, he wasn’t an awful person, he didn’t want to be... He was a hero to the Thawne’s. A hero to his family... ”Listen, I’ve had a really rare evening. Back off.” The Molotov cocktail was lit, and the message was clear. ”Last chance, freak. Hand over the watch, or we’ll have Blaze, here, light’chu up like a candle.” He tried being civil, he tried being merciful. The world is cruel, he was determined to be crueler. Electricity sparked around his hands and around his eyes. ”Is that a fact?”
It was a short scuffle. All four delinquents were left unconscious in that burning building (fun toy, that Molotov). Fire engulfed the rafters, and smoke danced in the air and mingled with the clouds. The psychotic little speedster lurched our of the building with a scowl. As... Therapeutic as that may have been, he knew he needed flee the scene as fast as possible... He really didn’t want to deal with with- ”CCPD, hands up.” Perfect. kill me now.
| Bart Allen |
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