Barry's laptop chimed. Email from Harrison Wells.
*Subject: STAR Labs Partnership Follow-Up*
Barry,
I hope you've had time to consider my offer. No pressure, but I wanted to provide additional context that might help your decision.
STAR Labs is entering a critical phase. The particle accelerator construction begins next month. We're assembling the final team now. Having someone with your capabilities involved from the beginning would be invaluable.
I'm also working on something I haven't discussed publicly yet. A project that combines theoretical physics with practical applications. Something that could change our understanding of reality itself.
I'd like to share more, but only with people who are committed to being part of what we're building. If you're interested, let's schedule another meeting. This time at STAR Labs. I'll show you what we're really working toward.
Best,
Harrison
Barry read the email three times. Wells was escalating. Offering access to secret projects. Trying to create urgency around the partnership decision.
The smart play was declining. Maintaining distance. Avoiding entanglement with whatever Wells was hiding.
But Barry's enhanced curiosity wouldn't let it go. What project was Wells working on? What could change understanding of reality itself?
Dimensional theory? Time travel? Something else entirely?
The only way to know was accepting the invitation.
Barry typed a response: "I'm interested. When works for you?"
The reply came within two minutes: "Tomorrow. 3 PM. I'll clear my schedule."
Barry confirmed and closed his laptop. Tomorrow he'd see what Harrison Wells was really building. What secrets STAR Labs held beyond the particle accelerator.
And maybe he'd finally get enough data to determine whether Wells was exactly what he appeared to be or something far more complicated.
---
Thursday evening arrived with the underground fight Barry had scheduled weeks ago.
The warehouse was packed. More spectators than usual. Word had spread about Barry's winning streak. People wanted to see the young fighter who'd dominated every opponent.
Barry stood in the makeshift locker area, wrapping his hands. His body was in peak condition. Months of optimized training visible in every muscle. His mind was sharp even without the Thinking Cap. Baseline cognitive enhancement made fight analysis trivial.
His opponent tonight was different from previous matches. Older. Scarred. Professional fighter who'd fallen on hard times and needed money. Someone actually dangerous.
Marcus, Barry's trainer, had warned him. "This guy's fought in real promotions. He's got technique and experience. Don't underestimate him."
Barry nodded but felt no concern. His enhanced mind had watched footage of the opponent's previous fights. Identified weaknesses. Calculated optimal strategies.
The fight would last less than two minutes.
At 9:47 PM, Barry walked into the cage. The crowd noise was deafening. Bets being placed. Money changing hands. Violence as entertainment.
His opponent entered from the opposite side. Bigger than Barry. Heavier. Older. Face showing the accumulated damage of a fighting career.
They touched gloves. The referee stepped back. The fight began.
Barry let his opponent come forward. Watched his footwork. His stance. The way he distributed weight. Everything confirmed what video analysis had shown. Orthodox boxer. Heavy right hand. Tendency to drop his lead hand after jab combinations.
Fifteen seconds of observation. That's all Barry needed.
Then he moved.
Whip-crack.
Barry's jab snapped out three times in rapid succession. Each one landing clean on his opponent's face. The bigger man's head rocked back. Blood sprayed from his nose.
He tried to clinch. Barry slipped sideways. Threw a liver shot that folded his opponent slightly.
Thud.
Follow-up right hand to the temple. His opponent stumbled. Balance compromised.
Barry's enhanced mind calculated the finish sequence. Left hook to solar plexus. Right uppercut when he drops his guard. Spinning back fist as he reels backward.
He executed perfectly.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
Three strikes in under two seconds. His opponent collapsed. Unconscious before hitting the mat.
The crowd erupted. Barry stood over the fallen fighter, breathing steadily. Not winded. Not hurt. Completely in control.
The referee checked the unconscious man and waved off the fight. Technical knockout. Ninety-three seconds total fight time.
Barry collected his winnings. $3,000. Decent money but insignificant compared to his business revenue. He fought for different reasons now. Testing himself. Maintaining edge. Confirming that his physical development matched his intellectual advancement.
As he left the warehouse, someone called his name.
"Barry Allen."
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