The night wind swept into the Chemical Plant through its countless holes, stirring up the acrid stench of gun smoke and blood.
Beams from SWAT's tactical lights crisscrossed the ruins as medics carried stretchers through the rubble.
Joe West leaned against an armored vehicle. The cigarette between his fingers burned down to the end and singed him before he snapped out of his daze and let it fall.
His hands were still shaking.
Not because of the explosion, or that yellow lightning too fast to comprehend.
It was because, just moments ago, the boy he had treated as his own son, the hero he had always been so proud of, had truly tried to kill him.
"Detective West." A SWAT captain approached, a trace of awe in his voice. "The prisoner's been loaded into the transport. There were... no other casualties at the scene."
He glanced at the man in the distance who was briefing the medical supervisor on the injured.
Yang Ming.
The entire SWAT team had witnessed that miracle: dozens of tons of steel beams and concrete swallowed by "doors" that appeared out of thin air, then dumped into the distant reservoir like garbage.
This guy was a fucking forensic pathologist? He was a walking natural disaster.
Joe nodded without speaking. He knew the captain's report of "no casualties" was entirely thanks to that one man.
For the first time, he understood with absolute clarity that Yang Ming was right.
This world could no longer be explained by a textbook.
Central City Hospital, the ward wing.
Barry's eyes snapped open. His blurred vision cleared, revealing a familiar white ceiling.
The lingering effects of the sedative left his head pounding, and his memories came flooding back.
Rage.
Loss of control.
Oliver lying in a pool of blood.
And