Progress.
"That's enough for today." Marcus unwrapped his hand tape. "You did good. Better than I expected for someone with zero experience."
"When can we do this again?"
"Thursday. Same time. But only if you promise to work on what I taught you between now and then. Practice at home. Get the movements down so deep they're instinctive."
"I will." Barry grabbed his gym bag. "Thanks, Marcus."
"Don't thank me yet. This is the easy part. Wait until we start actual sparring."
Barry left the gym at 8:17 PM, body aching but mind energized. He'd survived the assessment.
Proven himself worth training. And more importantly, he'd taken another step toward becoming dangerous.
He checked his phone while walking to his car. Text from Iris.
"My article got accepted! They're publishing it Thursday. I'm so excited!"
Barry smiled and typed back: "That's amazing. Congrats. Still on for Saturday dinner?"
"Absolutely. Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"You'll like this one."
Barry got in his car and drove home, mind already planning. Saturday dinner needed to be somewhere nice but not overly fancy.
Somewhere that said he'd put thought into it without seeming like he was trying too hard.
There was an Italian place downtown that Iris had mentioned months ago. Small, intimate, good food. Perfect.
Barry made a mental note to call for reservations tomorrow.
When he got home, he found a package waiting outside his apartment door. The lock-picking set, delivered early.
Barry brought it inside and opened it immediately.
Professional-grade tools. Tension wrenches in multiple sizes. Rake picks. Hook picks. Diamond picks. Everything he needed to bypass standard door locks.
Barry spread the tools on his dining table and pulled up instructional videos on his phone. His enhanced mind absorbed the techniques rapidly. Tumbler mechanics. Pressure points. The feel of pins setting inside a lock cylinder.
After twenty minutes of study, Barry grabbed the basic rake pick and tension wrench and walked to his apartment door. He inserted the tools into the lock and began working.
First attempt: forty-seven seconds.
Second attempt: thirty-nine seconds.
Third attempt: twenty-eight seconds.
Fourth attempt: nineteen seconds.
Fifth attempt: fourteen seconds.
By midnight, Barry could bypass his apartment lock in under eight seconds consistently. Fast enough that anyone walking by would just think he was using a key. Smooth enough that the lock showed no damage.
Perfect.
Barry practiced for another hour, working on different lock types he'd bought at a hardware store for practice. Deadbolts. Chain locks. Padlocks. Each one had its own quirks and techniques.
His comprehension speed made the learning curve trivial. What should have taken months of practice compressed into hours.
By 1:00 AM, Barry was confident he could handle any standard security lock he'd encounter at Central City University.
He set an alarm for 6:00 AM and went to bed, mind racing with plans for Thursday evening.
Clifford DeVoe would be in Lab 7B from 6:00 PM to 10:00 PM, conducting his neural enhancement experiments. The lab was in the basement of the physics building.
Restricted access. Security cameras in the hallways but not inside individual labs.
Barry would enter the building at 7:30 PM when the evening rush was over and most students had cleared out.
He'd take the stairs to the basement, bypassing the main elevators where cameras were concentrated. Pick the lock on Lab 7B. Enter quickly and quietly.
Then photograph everything. Equipment specifications. Experimental setups. Physical notes and prototypes. Anything that wasn't digitally stored.
Total time inside the lab: fifteen minutes maximum. In and out before anyone noticed.
It was risky. But necessary. The digital files gave him theory. The physical lab would give him practical implementation details.
Together, they'd provide a complete picture of DeVoe's work.
Barry closed his eyes, running through the plan repeatedly until every step was memorized. Every contingency accounted for.
In forty-eight hours, he'd have everything he needed from Clifford DeVoe.
And in five days, Oliver Queen would disappear and Barry Allen would start becoming rich.
Everything was accelerating. The timeline tightening. The game moving faster.
Barry fell asleep with a smile on his face.
He was done being ordinary. Done being weak. Done waiting for destiny to find him.
From now on, he was building his own future.
And nobody, not even the universe itself, was going to stop him.
'I hope so,' he thought as he entered deep sleep.
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