CHAPTER 1: A Change in the Weather
The city lights of Central City blurred past the window of the bus, a neon symphony reflecting in Adam Stiels's eyes. He adjusted his glasses, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, Central City, prepare for the glorious arrival of Adam Stiels, your new, somewhat reluctant, sarcastic guardian angel. Don't worry, I won't wear my underwear on the outside... usually."
The bus shuddered to a halt, jolting Adam from his internal monologue. He grabbed his worn backpack, a relic from a life that felt like a distant dream, and stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk. The air hummed with an almost palpable energy, a subtle tremor that only someone with foreknowledge—or an overactive imagination, which he definitely had—would pick up on. This wasn't just any city; this was Central City, 2012. The year everything changed.
"Showtime," he muttered, pulling his hoodie tighter against the surprisingly crisp autumn air.
His destination wasn't S.T.A.R. Labs, not directly. That would be suicide, and not the productive, skill-acquiring kind he was aiming for. No, his plan was far more nuanced. He needed to be killed by a specific person at a specific time. According to his extensive, borderline obsessive, knowledge of the Arrowverse, criminals Clyde and Mark Mardon were scheduled to make a daring escape via a small prop plane right as the Particle Accelerator went spectacularly boom. The resulting dark matter wave would hit their plane, grant Clyde weather powers, and cause a fatal crash. Adam's goal was to be right there to greet the grieving, confused, and newly empowered survivor.
"Talk about a grand entrance, right? 'Killed by a guy who just learned he can make it rain indoors.' Sounds like a stellar obituary."
He found a small, greasy spoon diner with a clear view of the city skyline, including the iconic dome of S.T.A.R. Labs in the distance. He ordered a coffee he had no intention of paying for and settled into a booth, keeping one eye on the clock on his cheap flip phone and the other on the sky.
"The waiting is the hardest part," he sighed dramatically to the unimpressed waitress. "The anticipation of a city-altering, meta-human-creating scientific catastrophe really works up an appetite. You guys have any of that pre-apocalypse pie left?"
Hours crawled by. The news on the diner's small television was filled with breathless coverage of Dr. Harrison Wells and his groundbreaking achievement. Adam watched, a pit of excitement and dread churning in his stomach. He saw Cisco, Caitlin, and the magnificent bastard himself, Eobard Thawne, give their final interviews.
Then, it began.
A low hum vibrated through the city, rattling the coffee cup on his table. The lights in the diner flickered violently before a blinding, silent flash of purple and white erupted from the S.T.A.R. Labs building on the horizon. It was beautiful and terrifying. A second later, a shockwave of energy washed over the city, not as a destructive force, but as an ethereal wave that killed every light and electronic device it touched. The diner plunged into darkness, followed by the entire city block, then the whole skyline. The only sounds were the sudden chorus of dying car engines and the confused shouts of people spilling into the streets.
Adam was already outside, his eyes scanning the now-dark sky. He didn't have to wait long. Against the faint glow of the moon, he saw it: a small plane, trailing smoke, spiraling downwards. It was heading for the industrial sector on the outskirts of the city, just as he remembered.
"And there's my cue," he said with a grim smile, breaking into a jog. "Don't mind me, folks, just heading towards the falling aircraft. Perfectly normal behavior."
He navigated the chaotic, powerless streets with an eerie calm, his foreknowledge a perfect map. It took him nearly an hour, but he finally found the crash site in a desolate warehouse district. The small plane was a mangled wreck, having sheared off the corner of one corrugated metal roof before plowing into the alley between two derelict buildings. A figure stumbled out of the wreckage, clutching his head. Clyde Mardon.
Adam approached cautiously, the smell of ozone and burnt fuel thick in the air. He could see Mark Mardon's body still in the co-pilot's seat. Clyde looked around, his eyes wild with grief and confusion, rain beginning to fall in a bizarre, ten-foot circle just around him.
This was it. Time to be the worst person in the world.
"Tough flight?" Adam called out, his voice cutting through the unnatural rain.
Clyde's head snapped towards him. "Who... who are you?"
"Just a concerned citizen," Adam said, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling closer. "Looks like your co-pilot didn't quite stick the landing. Shame. I had five bucks on him walking away from it."
Rage contorted Clyde's face. "My brother... he's dead!"
"Yeah, I can see that. Observational skills are kind of my thing," Adam replied, his tone dripping with casual cruelty. "So, what's with the personal raincloud? Feeling a little gloomy? Or is this your new party trick?"
A furious roar escaped Clyde's lips. The wind whipped around him in a sudden, violent vortex. "You... SHUT UP!"
The air pressure slammed into Adam like a physical blow, forcing the breath from his lungs. It felt like being at the bottom of the ocean. He staggered, a pained grin spreading across his face as he saw Clyde's hand outstretched, the air shimmering around it.
"There it is," he wheezed, falling to one knee. "Nice work, weather boy. You killed me. Five-star review on Yelp."
The pressure intensified, a crushing weight that felt like it was going to turn his bones to dust. His vision tunneled, the last thing he saw being the enraged, tear-streaked face of his first killer.
[ SYSTEM MESSAGE: HOST DECEASED. SKILL ACQUISITION INITIATED. ACQUIRING: MINOR ATMOSPHERIC PRESSURE MANIPULATION. ]
[ SYSTEM MESSAGE: REGENERATING... ]
The world went black.