Dying wasn't supposed to feel like this.
One moment I was walking home after a long shift, thinking about what cheap frozen dinner I was going to microwave when I got back. The next—
CRACK.
A lightning bolt dropped from the sky so fast I didn't even get to swear properly.
Then everything went white.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't on fire, or screaming, or drifting in an abyss. Instead, I was standing on what looked like a floor made of clouds—soft, glowing, endless. Above me was more of the same. No walls. No horizon. Just sky.
And in the middle of that nothingness sat… a wooden coffee table.
Behind it, an old man sipping tea like this was a perfectly normal morning.
He glanced up at me and squinted.
God: "Ah. You must be the one I killed by accident."
I stared at him, dead silent.
He sighed—the tired kind, like this wasn't the first time he'd done it.
God: "Terribly sorry. I sneezed. Haven't quite mastered holding back my lightning when that happens."
A sneeze.
I died because some cosmic grandpa sneezed.
Before I could start screaming, he raised a hand.
God: "Now, now. I am in a bit of trouble already for the incident. So I'm offering you compensation. Three wishes. Reincarnation or insertion into another reality—whichever you prefer."
Just like that, my exhausted Walmart-worker brain switched into protagonist mode. If life gives you lemons, at least squeeze three wishes out of them.
I didn't hesitate.
Wish One:
Me: "I want to go to the Young Justice universe… with a connection to the Artificial Negative Speed Force."
The old man nodded and scribbled something in a small notebook.
Wish Two:
Me: "I want a body physically durable enough to match or surpass Superboy."
Another scribble.
Wish Three:
Me: "I want my mind protected from all forms of intrusion or manipulation—telepathy, magic, psychic attacks, whatever. No one gets in without my permission."
More writing.
Then I added, a little nervously:
Me: "And… this isn't a wish, just a request. Please don't make me go through puberty again."
The old man froze mid-page turn. Then he grinned—the mischievous, chaos-god kind of grin.
God: "Oh, I'll honor your wishes. Every one of them."
God: "But this little request? For shits and giggles, I'll make you a teenager again anyway. Not for puberty."
God: "For entertainment."
Then he added:
God: "And enjoy the altered timeline you're about to land in. You'll need the new identity."
Before I could yell at him, he snapped his fingers.
A bolt of blinding white lightning exploded around me, swallowing my vision and hurling me downward—
—and the world vanished in a flash.
——////——
POV: Me
I woke up with a yell.
Not in my bed.
Not in my room.
Not in my life.
The ceiling above me was stained with age—old water marks and cheap paint. The air smelled like dusty carpet and someone's cooking drifting through thin apartment walls. A window to my left let in pale morning light, the kind that makes everything look washed-out and too real.
I sat up too fast and had to steady myself, hands gripping unfamiliar sheets.
Unfamiliar hands.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, heart pounding, head spinning like I'd been dropped out of a plane and caught myself at the last second.
The place was small—an old apartment with mismatched furniture, a secondhand dresser, a kitchen barely visible beyond a short hallway. The kind of place you rent when you're surviving, not living.
My eyes snapped to a table near the door.
Wallet. Keys. A phone. And an ID.
Like some horror movie protagonist, I grabbed it before I could talk myself out of it.
The name hit me first.
HUNTER ZOLOMON.
Age: 17.
I stared at it, waiting for the letters to blur into something else.
They didn't.
My hand trembled as I turned toward the mirror mounted above the dresser.
I didn't see my face.
I saw his.
A younger face. Sharper jaw. Different eyes. Different hair. A body that moved with a kind of coiled strength I hadn't had in my old life.
And then it clicked, the way a puzzle piece slams into place so hard it hurts.
Hunter.
Zolomon.
I swallowed.
Hunter: "You've gotta be shitting me… I'm an altered version of Zoom."
I dropped the ID on the dresser like it burned.
For a second, I just stood there, breathing hard, listening to my own pulse.
Then—because my brain is apparently broken—I tried to reach for it.
The Artificial Negative Speed Force.
Barely a thought.
The world… slowed.
Not like a metaphor. Not like "time feels different." Like reality itself had just been grabbed by the throat and forced to crawl.
The hum of the cheap fridge dragged into a long, low note. Dust motes hung in the air like frozen stars. My own breath sounded like thunder.
I took a step.
Two.
Three.
And I was halfway across the room.
My next step put me straight into the wall.
I blinked.
Looked down at my shoulder where it had hit.
Nothing.
No pain—just the faintest pressure, like bumping into a couch cushion too hard.
Hunter: "…Well. That's gonna take getting used to."
Then I noticed it.
A ring.
Black metal, smooth and simple, sitting on my finger like it belonged there.
A heat of excitement flickered through my chest.
Because I knew what that meant.
I extended my hand, focused, and pulsed a thread of speed through it.
The ring responded like it was alive.
A ripple of energy crawled up my arm, and in less than a second my clothes were gone—replaced by a suit that snapped into place piece by piece like liquid shadow hardening into armor.
Black.
Trimmed in red.
Lightning motifs sharp as claws across the chest and limbs.
The emblem sat at my chest like a warning.
I stared at my reflection.
It reminded me of Godspeed's aesthetic, but inverted—predatory instead of pristine. And if I'm being honest?
It looked sick.
Then the real hit came.
Not the suit.
The memories.
They came like a flood, like someone opened a door in my skull and dumped someone else's whole life into my brain.
I staggered, gripping the dresser as images—feelings—poured in.
Hunter stealing equipment, blending in with repair crews, slipping through labs that had already been wrecked by villains. Nobody watching. Nobody counting inventory. Perfect.
Blueprints. Tools. Soldering. Sweaty nights assembling a device that shouldn't exist.
The machine.
The moment it worked.
The first rush of speed like an addiction igniting in the blood.
And beneath it all—
Trauma.
A father in military uniform with dead eyes. A house filled with tension like a loaded gun. A mother trying to keep things together.
Then—
The gunshot.
The scream.
Blood on the floor.
Hunter's rage exploding so violently it felt like it was trying to tear my ribs apart.
I sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide.
That hate wasn't just a memory.
It was inside me now.
Because it was his brain.
His body.
His wiring.
And the worst part?
I could feel the obsession too.
The need to be fast.
To be the best.
To be untouchable.
To be the Flash, or better.
I forced myself to inhale slowly.
Then again.
Then again.
Breathing exercises. The kind I used to do when the world in my old life got too heavy. The kind that kept me from snapping at customers or losing it in the break room.
I held onto that rhythm like it was a rope over a cliff.
Eventually, the storm quieted.
Not gone.
Just… controlled.
And once I wasn't shaking anymore, I made a decision.
Before I became whatever this Hunter was going to become, I needed to secure the danger.
I dismissed the suit back into the ring, dressed normally, and walked out of the apartment like a regular person.
The sun outside was too bright.
The city was alive—cars, people, distant sirens, the sound of construction. Central City, broad daylight, like the world didn't realize it had just spawned another problem.
I got into "my" car and drove to the place Hunter used as storage.
Not a lair.
Not some dramatic cave.
Just a rented metal shack with a cheap lock and the smell of oil and rust.
Inside, the device sat where his memories said it would.
The machine that made this possible.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then I dismantled it.
Piece by piece.
Careful. Methodical. Packing components into labeled boxes with a system I would understand, not him. Not the old habits. Not the old obsession.
Because no random idiot was going to stumble in here and become the next speed-fueled disaster.
When it was done, I sealed everything away.
Then I put the suit back on.
And I ran.
God, I ran.
Across rooftops. Down empty streets. Through alleyways where the world blurred into streaks of color. The wind screamed past me. My footsteps cracked like tiny thunderclaps.
It wasn't just fast.
It was freedom.
It was the kind of power that makes you forget how fragile you used to be.
I wasn't trying to hurt anyone.
I was just… learning.
Laughing under my breath like an idiot as the city became a playground.
And then—
Something passed me.
A yellow-red streak, fast enough to tug my attention like a hook.
I slowed, turning my head as he ran by.
Kid Flash.
Young Justice Kid Flash.
Wally West.
Right there.
Broad daylight.
And in that moment, something wicked—and very, very Hunter—curled in my chest.
A devilish idea.
I kicked up my pace, red lightning flaring brighter around me like a living aura.
Wally didn't notice until I was close enough that my shadow fell over him.
He jerked his head toward me, eyes widening behind his goggles.
Kid Flash: "Who are you?!"
I vibrated my voice instinctively.
And somehow, like the universe wanted to laugh at me, the sound that came out wasn't mine.
It was him.
That deep, distorted, nightmare voice from the CW version.
Zoom: "I'm the fastest man alive…"
I leaned in, red lightning crackling like teeth.
Zoom: "…and you're dead, man."
END