Chapter 10 : The House of Lightning
The security at STAR Labs was an insult to the profession.
One guard. One checkpoint. A clipboard with names and a cursory ID verification that wouldn't stop a determined teenager, let alone someone with actual hostile intent. I made mental notes as I walked through—camera angles, response times, structural vulnerabilities—the security consultant cover demanding I actually see these things.
Caitlin waited for me past the checkpoint, wearing her lab coat like armor. Her smile was warmer than yesterday's professional courtesy.
"You came."
"You invited me." I fell into step beside her. "Though I have to say, your perimeter security is giving me anxiety."
"We've... had budget cuts." The hesitation told me she knew exactly how inadequate it was. "After the explosion, most of our funding disappeared. We're operating on a skeleton crew."
"I noticed. The guard barely looked at my ID."
"Frank's been here since before the accelerator. He's more of a tradition than a security measure at this point."
The corridors opened into the cortex, and I let myself feel the impact.
Television hadn't done it justice. The central command center spread out before me—multiple workstations, holographic displays, more processing power in this room than most government installations. Cables ran in organized bundles along the walls. Monitors displayed data streams I couldn't interpret but recognized as significant.
This was where the Flash operated. Where impossible science became reality. Where the future of Central City—maybe the world—was being shaped by a handful of people who'd survived catastrophe and chosen to keep fighting.
I was standing in it. Part of the machine now.
Three weeks ago, I was dying on a crosswalk in another universe.
"Impressive, right?" Caitlin watched my reaction with something like pride. "Most people just see the damage. The crater, the lawsuits, the casualties. They don't see what we're building from the wreckage."
"I see potential." The words came out genuine. "What you could do here with proper resources, proper support..."
"That's actually why you're here." She gestured toward the central console. "Come on. I want you to meet the team."
Cisco Ramon approached like an excited puppy, hand already extended before I'd finished walking into the room.
"Harry Griffin! Caitlin's mentioned you like six times this week." His handshake was enthusiastic, grip firm but not competitive. "Security consultant, right? Please tell me you're going to fix our terrible access protocols."
"That bad?"
"Dude, I could walk in here with a fake mustache and Frank would probably wave me through." Cisco grinned without malice. "Don't get me wrong, I love Frank. But the man once let in a pizza delivery guy who wasn't even delivering pizza. Just wandered in looking for directions."
"Cisco." Caitlin's voice carried warning.
"What? Harry's here to help. He should know what he's working with." Cisco turned back to me with undimmed enthusiasm. "So, Caitlin says you do threat assessment? Vulnerability analysis? That kind of thing?"
"Among other things." I glanced around the cortex, cataloguing. "You have military-grade containment technology but consumer-level intrusion detection. The disconnect is fascinating."
Cisco's eyes lit up. "Right? That's exactly the problem. Our funding was all research-focused. Nobody thought about what happens when the research gets out."
"The research got out," I said. "Fourteen months ago."
"Yeah." His enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "Yeah, it did."
The door at the far end of the cortex opened before the silence could become awkward. A young man rushed in—late twenties, tall, lean, moving with the particular energy of someone perpetually behind schedule.
"Sorry, sorry!" He crossed the room at speed that probably looked normal to human eyes. "Traffic was insane. Well, not insane exactly, just... slow. Regular slow."
Barry Allen. In person. The Flash himself, pretending to be an ordinary forensic consultant.
The system pinged before he reached me.
[METAHUMAN DETECTED] [CLASSIFICATION: SPEEDSTER — ESTIMATED S-TIER] [WARNING: TARGET EXCEEDS EXTRACTION CAPACITY]
I kept my expression neutral as he extended his hand.
"Barry Allen. I work with the CCPD, consulting on forensic analysis. Caitlin mentioned we might have a new security perspective joining the team?"
"Harry Griffin." His handshake was firm, genuine, the grip of someone who wanted to be liked. "Security consultant. Caitlin's been generous with her introductions."
"She's good at that." Barry shot Caitlin a smile that carried history—friendship, trust, the bond of people who'd survived something terrible together. "Fair warning, though—our security problems aren't exactly... conventional."
"I'm gathering that." I released his hand, filing away the sensation. S-tier. The fastest man alive. And I'd just shaken his hand like we were colleagues at a networking event.
The absurdity of my situation hit me fresh. Three weeks ago, I watched this man on television. Now I was standing in his headquarters, being introduced to his team, planning to embed myself in his operation.
The universe had a sense of humor.
The wheelchair arrived before its occupant announced himself.
Harrison Wells rolled into the cortex with the measured pace of someone who controlled every room he entered. The glasses caught the light. The smile was professionally warm. And behind the facade of the crippled genius, I saw something else entirely.
Eobard Thawne. The Reverse-Flash. A murderer wearing stolen skin, manipulating everyone in this building toward ends only he understood.
He'd killed Barry's mother. Would try to kill Barry himself. Had been planning the destruction of everything these people cared about for fifteen years.
I knew all of this. He had no idea I knew.
"Mr. Griffin." Wells extended his hand without attempting to rise. "Caitlin speaks highly of your professional credentials. Welcome to STAR Labs."
"Dr. Wells." I took his hand and held it exactly long enough. His grip was stronger than a paralyzed man's should be—another detail that didn't match his cover. "It's an honor. Your work on the particle accelerator was groundbreaking."
"Groundbreaking." A thin smile crossed his features. "An appropriate word, given the crater it left."
Self-deprecation as deflection. I recognized the technique because I used it myself.
"I meant the science, not the outcome." I released his hand and stepped back, putting comfortable distance between us. "Sometimes innovation carries risks that can't be predicted."
"How diplomatic of you." His eyes assessed me with an intelligence that felt predatory. "Tell me, Mr. Griffin—what draws a security consultant to our particular operation? We're hardly a conventional client."
"Unconventional problems require unconventional solutions." I met his gaze without flinching. "The metahuman situation has changed everything about threat assessment. Your facility is at the center of that change. Where better to understand it?"
"And understanding is your goal?"
"Understanding leads to solutions. Solutions lead to safety." I gestured at the cortex. "This city needs people who comprehend what it's facing. Your team clearly does. I'd like to help where I can."
Wells studied me for a long moment. Behind the affable mask, calculations were running. I could almost see them—threat assessment, vulnerability analysis, the same evaluation I'd perform on any potential target.
Two predators recognizing something in each other.
"I think," Wells said finally, "you'll find STAR Labs has much to offer a man of your particular interests."
The words carried weight I couldn't fully parse. A warning? An invitation? Both?
"I'm looking forward to finding out."
The demonstration that followed was technically a security briefing.
Cisco walked me through containment protocols—the pipeline, the dampening cells, the technology designed to hold people with abilities that defied physics. His enthusiasm made the technical details accessible. His genuine belief in the work made it compelling.
"The key is energy absorption," he explained, pulling up schematics on a holographic display. "Meta-powers generate specific frequencies. If we can match and counteract those frequencies, we can suppress the abilities without harming the person."
"Theoretically humane containment."
"Exactly." Cisco's face showed the complicated pride of someone who'd built something they weren't sure they should be proud of. "The cells aren't perfect, but they're better than the alternative."
"Which is?"
"ARGUS black sites. Or worse." He lowered his voice. "Some of these people... they didn't choose what they became. The accelerator changed them. Locking them in a hole forever feels wrong, but we don't have better options yet."
Caitlin joined us for the medical overview. Her explanations were precise, clinical, the language of someone who processed emotion through data. She described cellular mutation, genetic expression, the biological mechanisms that transformed ordinary people into something else.
I listened. Asked intelligent questions. Demonstrated the expertise that Harrison Griffin's memories provided.
But part of me was watching Wells.
He'd positioned his wheelchair near the central console, ostensibly reviewing data, actually observing everything. Every interaction I had, every question I asked, every reaction I displayed—he catalogued it all.
I did the same to him.
The tension was invisible to everyone else. Caitlin saw productive collaboration. Cisco saw a potential ally. Barry, distracted by whatever Flash business pulled at his attention, saw nothing unusual at all.
Only Wells and I understood what was happening beneath the surface.
He doesn't know what I know, I reminded myself. He suspects something, but he can't know about the transmigration. The system. The foreknowledge. To him, I'm just an unusual variable.
To me, he's a threat I'll eventually have to address.
But not today. Not until I understood more. Not until I had the power to survive the confrontation.
The demonstration ended at 5 PM. Cisco had proposed three collaborative projects. Caitlin had scheduled follow-up meetings. Barry had apologized four separate times for various distractions. Even Wells had offered measured approval.
"Your insights were valuable, Mr. Griffin." He shook my hand one final time at the cortex exit. "I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other."
"I suspect you're right."
Caitlin walked me to the main entrance, past Frank the security guard who barely glanced up from his crossword.
"That went well," she said. "Wells doesn't approve of most people."
"Did he approve of me?"
"He didn't disapprove. That's practically a standing ovation from him." She stopped at the door, hesitating. "Listen, I know this was professional, but... would you want to get dinner sometime? Actual dinner, not work discussion disguised as food?"
The invitation caught me off-guard. Not because I hadn't anticipated it—building this connection was the entire point—but because of how much I wanted to say yes for reasons that had nothing to do with strategy.
"I'd like that."
"Good." She smiled. The armor cracked slightly. "I'll text you."
I walked to my car under fading afternoon light. The visitor badge sat in my pocket, tangible proof of access achieved. Behind me, through the glass walls of the atrium, I caught movement.
Wells. Watching me leave.
In twenty-three years—or whenever Thawne's twisted timeline originated—he'd murder a woman to destroy her son. Today, he was wondering what made Harry Griffin worthy of attention.
I wondered the same thing about him.
The game had new players now. New stakes. New complications I'd have to navigate carefully.
I started the car and drove toward the city, my mind already turning toward the next extraction.
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