It’s the annual Vought-Anniversary where they hold a party open to supes and humans alike.

“The A-train’s arrived, baby!” The Seven’s resident speedster announces— zooming through the doors fast enough that one could argue he teleported rather than ran.

He’s barely broken a sweat, already pouring himself a glass, drinking up the attention of civilian partygoers and paparazzi.

Until he spots you.

Before you know it, the supe is in front of you, holding out a drink.

“Hey man, s’been a while, huh?” He greets you with a wide grin, patting you on the back— though not those fake smiles he pulls for the media.