The warehouse district offered privacy for what I needed.
Six days remained before the accelerator test. Six days to push every ability I possessed to its functional maximum. Six days to prepare for a confrontation with a speedster who'd had fifteen years to plan every move.
I started with Unbreakable Warrior.
The fusion power had stabilized since its creation, the memories of Tank and Ironhide settling into background noise rather than active intrusion. But stability wasn't mastery. I needed precision under pressure, activation without hesitation, the kind of control that came from repetition until it became instinct.
[UNBREAKABLE WARRIOR: TRAINING MODE] [CURRENT SYNC: 38%]
The abandoned loading dock became my arena. Concrete blocks served as impact tests—weights that would shatter normal bones. I lifted one overhead and dropped it on my foot.
Pressure. Discomfort. No damage.
I repeated the sequence with increasing force. Heavier blocks. Longer drops. Each impact registering as sensation rather than injury, each test pushing closer to the power's limits.
By the third hour, I understood the threshold. At current sync, I could absorb impacts that would hospitalize most people—blunt force, crushing weight, the kind of damage that came from hitting walls at high speed. Not invincible. A speedster's vibrating hand could probably still reach my vital organs. But durable enough to survive mistakes that would kill an ordinary human.
[SYNC RATE: 42%] [PROGRESS: ACCEPTABLE]
The second drill combined Unbreakable Warrior with phasing.
This was the technique I'd developed against Ironhide—phase through an attack, solidify inside the target's body, create internal damage that external durability couldn't prevent. The combination required precise timing, the ability to shift between states faster than conscious thought could manage.
I practiced on wooden mannequins, phasing through their centers and solidifying at various depths. Too shallow and the damage was superficial. Too deep and I risked getting stuck. The sweet spot was somewhere in between—enough penetration to cause harm without overcommitting.
By day three, I could execute the maneuver in under a second.
[PHASING SYNC: 52%] [PHASE-STRIKE TIMING: OPTIMAL]
Fire projection came next.
I'd neglected Burnout's power since extracting it—the low sync rate made it unreliable, dangerous in situations where precision mattered. But fire had utility beyond combat. Distraction. Intimidation. Creating chaos when chaos was needed.
The training happened in a separate section of the warehouse, away from anything that might spread flames uncontrollably. The power responded to emotional intensity—anger made it stronger but harder to direct, calm made it weaker but more precise.
I needed precise.
Three days of focused practice yielded basic competence. I could project a controlled stream for approximately three seconds before the power stuttered. Not impressive by metahuman standards, but enough to surprise someone who didn't expect it.
[FIRE PROJECTION SYNC: 18%] [CONTROL: BASIC]
The combination drills were the hardest.
Phase through incoming attack. Activate Unbreakable Warrior mid-transition. Counter with fire to create separation. Absorb return damage while repositioning. Each element required split-second timing, each transition risked losing control of one power while activating another.
I practiced until my muscles screamed with exhaustion. Until the hunger from repeated power usage drove me to consume entire meals in single sittings. Until the sequences became something like muscle memory—not perfect, but reliable enough to bet my life on.
The escape routes took two nights to finalize.
STAR Labs was a complex facility—multiple levels, emergency exits, maintenance corridors that didn't appear on standard schematics. My security consultant access gave me legitimate reason to study the layouts, but the real work happened after hours when the facility was quiet.
I walked every corridor. Tested every door. Identified blind spots in the camera coverage and timed responses to triggered alarms.
The cortex had three primary exits and two secondary options through maintenance access. The accelerator ring could be evacuated through service tunnels leading to the parking structure. The pipeline—where I expected the confrontation to eventually occur—had fewer options but included emergency hatches designed for equipment removal.
I memorized routes for every scenario I could imagine.
If Eddie is threatened in the cortex, I can reach him through the east corridor in fourteen seconds.
If Thawne takes him to the pipeline, the service tunnel offers flanking approach.
If everything goes wrong and I need to disappear, the maintenance shaft leads to the storm drain system three blocks away.
The contingency planning felt excessive. Paranoid. The kind of preparation that assumed failure was more likely than success.
I did it anyway.
Because Reverse-Flash was faster than anyone I'd faced. Smarter than anyone I'd manipulated. A man who'd spent fifteen years planning this moment wouldn't be surprised easily.
My only advantage was knowing what he wanted. Knowing the one vulnerability he didn't know he had.
Eddie Thawne.
Day one hundred fifty-four arrived with unexpected quiet.
I sat on the roof of my apartment building, watching the city lights spread toward the horizon. Central City seemed peaceful from this vantage—ordinary people living ordinary lives, unaware of the extraordinary forces that shaped their world.
Tomorrow might change everything.
The thought carried less weight than I expected. Four months of living in this body, this world, had taught me something about uncertainty. The future was a collection of possibilities, not a predetermined path. My foreknowledge gave me advantages, but it didn't guarantee outcomes.
Eddie might die anyway. My intervention might fail. Thawne might anticipate the interference and adapt. A dozen variables I couldn't control might align in ways that made my preparations irrelevant.
And if that happens?
Then I'd deal with it. Adapt. Find another path forward. The same way I'd dealt with waking up in a stranger's body, discovering the system, losing Caitlin to a resurrected ghost.
Harrison Griffin had kept good bourbon.
I found the bottle in the kitchen cabinet—Woodford Reserve, unopened since before my arrival. The seal cracked with a satisfying sound. I poured a single glass and carried it back to the roof.
"To tomorrow."
The bourbon burned going down. Rich, complex, carrying flavors I couldn't quite identify. I didn't finish the glass—just needed to feel something that wasn't fear or anticipation.
The city lights blurred slightly. Exhaustion or emotion, I couldn't tell.
[PREPARATION COMPLETE] [ALL SYSTEMS: READY] [RECOMMENDATION: REST]
For once, the system and I agreed.
I set three alarms, checked my gear one final time, and eventually found something resembling sleep. The dreams left no traces in my memory.
Tomorrow, everything changed.
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― DECREE ―
More chapters reign FREE upon unwrittenrealm.com.
The throne acknowledges.
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