CHAPTER 4: The Psychic Prank and a Cold Introduction
The next few weeks at S.T.A.R. Labs settled into a strange rhythm. Barry remained in his coma, but his vitals were stable, if unusually active. Cisco and Caitlin, under Wells's watchful eye, meticulously monitored him, their hopes fluctuating with every little change. And Adam? Adam was their self-appointed resident 'psychic consultant,' a constant, sarcastic presence who somehow managed to be both irritating and indispensable.
" My role, you ask? Oh, just to be the charming, witty, and surprisingly insightful glue that holds this dysfunctional family together. And to make sure everyone knows I told them so, without actually saying 'I told you so.' It's an art form, really. "
His "psychic insights" became a running gag, and a genuinely useful one. He'd "foresee" small events, like Cisco misplacing his lucky wrench or Caitlin needing a specific medical supply, always delivering the information with a dramatic flourish and a perfectly timed sarcastic remark. This built trust, slowly but surely. It made his more significant "predictions" – like the eventual emergence of metahumans – seem less like crazy talk and more like... well, crazy talk that happened to be right.
One evening, as Cisco was meticulously calibrating a new sensor, Adam perched on a stool nearby, idly flipping a pen. "You know, Cisco," he began, "I had a vision last night. A powerful, unsettling vision."
Cisco, engrossed in his work, grunted. "About what? The cafeteria running out of pizza?"
"Worse," Adam said dramatically, leaning in. "Much, much worse. I saw... a rogue. A very cold rogue. He had a gun. A very, very cold gun. And he was very, very rude to bank tellers."
Cisco paused, slowly turning to look at Adam. "A cold gun? Like, a freeze ray?" His eyes lit up. "Dude! That's awesome! But also, seriously? You're predicting a guy with a freeze ray?"
"Hey, my visions are nothing if not specific about the weaponry," Adam said with a shrug. "And he's not just a guy; he's a Leonard. A Leonard Snart, to be precise. And he's got a flair for the dramatic. Likes to quote himself. Probably smells faintly of ice cubes and bad intentions."
Caitlin, who had just walked into the Cortex with a tray of lukewarm coffee, scoffed. "Adam, are you telling me you're having visions of comic book villains now?"
"Not just comic book villains, Dr. Snow," Adam replied, taking a coffee from her tray without asking. "Actual, real-life super-criminals who are about to start terrorizing our fair city. It's an occupational hazard of being me, really. My brain is basically a spoiler-generating machine for catastrophic events." He took a sip of the truly awful coffee. "Ugh, this tastes like despair and old socks. You guys really need a better coffee machine."
Cisco, however, was already buzzing. "A freeze ray! We could call him... Captain Cold! Oh, wait, you already called him a Leonard. Captain Leonard? No, that's lame. Captain Cold it is!"
Adam grinned. "See? This is why you're my favorite. You get it. And speaking of getting it, my vision also showed him making a rather significant debut at... let's say, the Central City National Bank, sometime next week. Probably on a Tuesday. Bad guys love Tuesdays."
Wells, who had been silently observing the exchange from his wheelchair, finally spoke. "Mr. Stiels, your 'predictions' are... intriguing. However, they lack empirical evidence. We cannot act on mere conjecture."
"Oh, but you can, Dr. Wells," Adam said, locking eyes with him. "You absolutely can. Because when this 'Leonard Snart' shows up, and he will show up, you'll remember my highly inconveniently accurate 'conjecture.' And then you'll realize that having someone who can give you a heads-up, even a sarcastic one, is a pretty good asset to have. Especially when the police are baffled by a guy who can make icicles appear out of thin air." He paused, taking another sip of coffee. "Besides, what's the harm in being prepared? A little extra security at the bank, maybe a few more patrols in the area. Worst case, you look like a very cautious genius. Best case, you stop a supervillain before he becomes a recurring problem. Your call."
Wells's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of something calculating in their depths. "We will consider your... insights, Mr. Stiels."
"That's all I ask," Adam said cheerfully. "Consider away! But don't say I didn't warn you when you're scraping ice off your security cameras."
True to his "vision," a few days later, news reports flooded in about an unprecedented bank robbery. The vault was frozen solid, and the security cameras showed a man in a parka wielding a futuristic-looking cold gun. Leonard Snart. Captain Cold.
Cisco was practically bouncing off the walls. "He actually did it! Adam, you're a psychic! This is amazing! We have to find him! We have to stop him!"
Caitlin, though still processing the implications, looked at Adam with a new, grudging respect. "How... how did you know?"
Adam merely shrugged, a smug grin on his face. "Like I said, the 'future insights' are strong. And sometimes they manifest as oddly specific fashion advice for supervillains. Never underestimate the power of a good premonition. Now, about that coffee machine..."
Wells, for his part, remained uncharacteristically silent, his gaze fixed on Adam. The seeds of suspicion and curiosity had been well and truly sown. Adam knew he'd have to walk a fine line, providing just enough information to be useful without revealing the full extent of his future knowledge. He didn't want to break the timeline, just... nudge it. And occasionally poke it with a very long, sarcastic stick.
" The trick is to be helpful, but not too helpful. Just enough to be indispensable, but not enough to be dissected. It's a delicate dance, really. A dance I'm pretty good at, if I do say so myself. "