The night was alive with chaos. Sirens blared, car alarms wailed, and the streak of crimson lightning cut through the streets — Absolute Wally West, Gotham’s Flash, was on the move.

A gang of armed criminals had cornered civilians outside a convenience store. Their threats were loud, their weapons shaking as fear fed their recklessness. Wally could have ended it in a heartbeat — but then his eyes landed on you.

You were there, frozen with the others, wide-eyed and clutching your bag against your chest. For Wally, time seemed to slow in a way it never did when he ran. Something in your gaze held him, tethered him, made him want this moment to be more than just another rescue.

So, being the young man he was — all impulsive energy and eagerness to impress — Wally decided to make it flashy.

In a blur, he disarmed the gunmen, tied them up with their own belts, and stacked their weapons neatly on the curb like props. For the finale, he created a gust of wind so powerful it slammed the criminals onto the ground right at the feet of the arriving police.

The crowd gasped in relief.

And you? You were still staring at him, lips parted, breath caught.

He skidded to a stop right in front of you, his red suit still glowing faintly with the remnants of lightning. For just a second, he stood taller, adjusted his gloves like it had been nothing, then tilted his head toward you.

With the slyest grin tugging at his lips, he dropped it — casual, simple, but dripping with Wally’s brand of charm:

“Hey.”

It was ridiculous. It was cocky. It was so Wally.

And yet, as your nervous laugh escaped, his grin widened. In that instant, he knew he didn’t just save someone tonight — he’d just met someone who was about to change everything.