Age of Sorrow: Blood Eagle

January 7, 2015: Barry Allen is arrested for the murder of Barbara Jones. - Emits by Seikatsu

Various Parts of New York

New York



  • Detective Hammerman
  • Jason Moore
  • Chief of Police
  • Murmur
  • Esmerelda
  • Various NYPD Swat and Police officers

Mood Music:

Chapter 1: Blood Eagle

Not long after Barry and Eventide moved belonging and vacated the apartment proper; Mary, a friend of Barbara Jones, wandered around the house of where her friend lived, which was directly across the Allen apartments. Not too long ago there was a call that was placed, of someone who wouldn't believe what they saw. And then, nothing. Only the sound of muffled movement, and then silence as the pitch was /black/. They haven't heard from her in days, so Mary took up the mantle of doing a wellness check. She's had a key to Barb's apartment for a while, she took to babysitting her cats whenever she went to visit family.

Maybe, just maybe, the guy she was seeing that creeped her out came back.

She unlocks the door.. inviting herself in..




The flashing lights and sirens marked the tragedy, police officers, crime scene investigators alike combed the premises, each within their respective groups, speaking in hushed tones about the gruesome crime scene.

One cop, he hasn't seen anything like this in his life, and took to expelling the contents of his lunch and burbon upon the grass outside.

Another, stood in the entry way, brimmed hat hung down, the need to smoke a cigarette evident by the quirk of his lips, his hand drawing up to smear paste along his nose as he walks into the house with booties upon his feet.

"Detective Hammerman." One of the officers said. "We did everything before you got here. All we need to do is bag and tag the evidence and get it to the labs right and proper."

The man, tall.. possibly a good 6'4, the size of a linebacker with shoulders that would crash walls nods, his deep timbre offering up a word of thanks and a clap to his co-workers shoulder. "Let's keep this hush hush for now. Drag Moore out of the gutter and get him to process this. If people find out the caliber of the crime they're going to want to get results fast. And we need to do this without being rushed."

The officer nods, as Hammerman turns to stand into the door, leaning against the sill, his eyes peeled upon the apartment across the way. Something didn't sit right with him, it didn't sit right at all. And he felt these next few days will be tumultuous.

And in Greenwich Village:

So Ronnie lives like she's still an undergrad, is the lesson that can be taken away from looking at her place. She insisted on 'cleaning' while Barry picked up some clothes and toiletries for his time away from home. What cleaning she's done seems to have been 'the dishes' — in truth, that time was spent going to the self-storage place down the street that doesn't ask any questions and stashing all of her hero gear and Aleph Zero boosters. She felt a little dicey about that one. But it's better than explaining to your boyfriend who thinks you're a mutant what that case of mystery syringes is about.

So here's two people in a one-bedroom decorated with church-basement furniture — the old hippie blanket draped over the couch really hides all the worn spots in its surface — and spilling over with piles of books and DVDs. Christmas lights are stapled to the wall in the living room area. Her dishes are a thrift-store amalgamation of random pieces, no one piece matching any other.

Dinner went fine. It was dinner. It was fine. Then afterwards, a movie together on the couch. Whit Stillman's 'Damsels in Distress.' Some conversation. Edging closer on the sofa, touching hands, leaning. Ronnie, privately wondering if the Aleph Zero Formula, with the way it's made her resistant to temperatures, has done anything to her sensitivity in any other ways.

Then a comment that it's been a long day, and it's time for bed. And if Barry tries to make the couch into someplace to lay his head, he's going to get a "mutant"-strength yank on the arm towards the bedroom. And from there, less forceful touching, as two young adults are prone to do in each other's company.

Ever since he was a kid, Barry had just assumed bad things would happen to him.

There was the death of his mother, the incarceration of his father, getting his rejection letters from MIT and a host of other schools. Don't even throw in that whole thing about Eddie and…Nevermind. Not a good topic for right now.

The point is that whenever something seems like it will go wrong, it usually does. Barry is a remarkably upbeat and positive fellow given everything that's happened. But this afternoon, he was fairly sure that was the end of it. He was fairly sure that one of a couple things happened and all of them ended with him losing his girlfriend and some of them ended with him revealing his identity as the Flash, while others had him landing in jail.

So, as youthful participants go and do their thing, Mr. Bartholomew Allen does so with an excited fervor that only a man who can see the end near and then suddenly get everything he wants back can have. He's just starting to think that everything is going to be just fine.

At the precinct:

"Mista Hammerman! You gotta see this!" Jason Moore called out. He was a waifish fellow, someone you wouldn't think twice about being a real stand up guy, a gentleman. But he was often pegged as a nerd and all too happy to wear that sort of badge on his sleeve aside from the yes sir and thank you ma'ams.

Hammerman spins around in his chair, drawing thick fingers out into the open to politely take the files from the young man's hand. And what he sees? He couldn't believe.

"You sure about this, son?" He asks.

"I know you said to take my time. To comb through everything. To check and check it twice but, I couldn't.." He looks a little choked up.

"It's alright. This has happened before. And you're sure that this isn't a mistake?"

"Dead sure." He grows silent, his face falling into something of a bit of remorse. He shook a little as he gripped his labcoat, and felt all the more ashamed of it. "He's my friend."

"I know son. Let me take this to the Chief myself. I'll tell him you need a couple of hours off the clock to process this. Alright?"

The young man could only nod and turn away. Returning to his station.

Hammerman turns, slamming the file down upon his desk.. the pictures spilling out to only show a shoulder of a man visible. "God, fucking dammit."

There are a couple awkward spots and some sentences forced out on a single breath, and Ronnie's bed only has a comforter on it, no sheets, which is just weird.

Still, things are fun, and eventually they're over. There are no lights on in the room, but moonlight's coming in through an un-blinded window that looks newer than the somewhat decrepit rest of the room.

"Things'll be fine," Ronnie says while leaned against Barry. "You've got your friends on the force looking out for you." She has no idea how badly she's just jinxed him.

Barry's lips brush her bare shoulder as he looks out the window, "You're right." He throws an arm over her and enjoys the view to outside. For the first time in a long time, Barry Allen is at peace. Sure, there are still a lot of loose ends out there, but he can see the light at the end of the tunnel and the light is something good.

At the Precinct:

"Chief, you know Moore is the best of the best. He's right there under him, there's no way he could have gotten that wrong. Now I don't like this as much as you do but we can't ignore the facts."

The Chief looked stricken as well, his face nearly red, thumbing over the results of the DNA that Moore brought from the lab.

"I thought in all my time I wouldn't have to deal with this again. I'll get the Judge on the line and get a warrant for his arrest. I want him tracked, I want him found, and I want this done quietly." He spins around in his chair, glancing over the city with a frown, fingers aloft in front of him and soon pressed together. "If the media gets ahold of this, it'll be mayhem. Do you know who his father is?"

"I do Sir."

"Then you understand the gravity of the situation. Assemble the team and track him down. He needs to be found as soon as possible." Grave situations.

"Bring him in alive, Hammerman. Unscathed. He's still one of us, and he still gets his due process."

Hammerman nods, as the Chief picks up the phone. There were no farewells, only silence and a heavy weight that he had to bear.

The kiss to her shoulder makes Ronnie smile maybe a little bit more than she actually planned on. She's trying to figure out what her excuse will be tomorrow, to go to her little self-storage locker and jam a syringe of synthetic super-steroids into her butt cheek, as she's grown accustomed to doing every morning before working out.

But silently cuddling makes for great cover for deep thoughts like that. "And whoever's behind it will get what's coming to them. Japan Man. Or someone." 'Japan Man' is actually the codename of the weed dealer on ESU campus, but whatever.

"Whoever it is, they're going to pay," Barry says, almost because that's what all heroes have to say at a time like that. But then the moment sort of takes over and he can't stop from being a bit of a clown, "You really are ripped. I mean, I think you've got more muscle mass than I do." She does, and it's not really close. Barry is pretty skinny.

And finally, in Greenwich Village:

Squad cars quietly line the streets, the lights remaining off as to not alert anyones attention to send them to a run. Police, while trained to give chase, do not like to do so in the cold. Plus there were horror stories: Obright wore his wedding ring while he jumped the fence, it got snagged and ripped his entire finger off as he followed through. Many men wanted to avoid that, to avoid odd catches and ripped appendages and breaking ass upon snow.

Assault rifles abound, checked, safety off.

Flack jackets worn, helmets just in case.

The team soon assembled, Hammerman in a black van as they swarm out into the open and approach the premises, rifles at the ready. It was a trained fan effect, five of the best acquisitions team fan off to the left, the other five upon the right. Another crew of two took the back while six, kept to the front.

The man power was unnecessary, of course, but the murder was brutal enough that there was a small fear that lingered among the men that Barry Allen, the suspect, could do /real/ harm.

The signal was given with a wave of fingers and a point to the door, drawing Hammerman out into the open, the bill of Warrant tucked within his coat pocket as he made his way towards the sidewalk to stand with the lingering two who carried the battering ram.

"NYPD!" He bellows out, deep timbre enough to draw the attention of neighbors as the lead signals to the door.

The two cops with the ram rush up the steps, drawing the mechanism backward, slamming it home to the front of the door and with a drop and spin, the others filter in. "NYPD! BARRY ALLEN! WE'RE LOOKING FOR BARRY ALLEN!"

"It's because you run around all day, it's nothing but cardio," Ronnie teases back, gripping Barry's bicep. "Do you even lift, bro?" She giggles dorkishly and that's when she's interrupted by the police storming the walkup.

The front door of her apartment being busted it prompts a "what the f—" from Ronnie before her first move, which is to cover herself with the comforter and frantically try to grab her robe. Her big, thick robe that might do an okay job covering up her Olympian muscles.

When Ronnie pulls the comforter away, Barry is left alone in his boxer shorts and socks. His look matches Ronnie's of confusion as he leaps out of bed and makes his way to the bedroom door.

He creaks it open slowly, mostly for Ronnie's sake. "I'm Barry Allen," he says as he heads out into the living room. "What's this about?"

The men filter in line, much like what Barry would be used to if he'd ever accompanied the force on a sting. They kneel upon one knee, guns trained even though Barry remains unarmed. No taking chances.

Hammerman filters through the crowd of men at his behest, reaching into his coat pocket to withdraw a warrant. He was close enough to offer it to him, the only moment of politeness that he'd see this night. "This is a warrant for your arrest, Barry Allen, under the suspicion of murder and desecration of a corpse."


Ronnie should know better than to yell like that when grown men are playing with guns — she's got no small amount of professional firearms training herself — but she can't help herself. Or she's trying to look like she doesn't know what she knows. She can barely even tell anymore and she's hardly about to give it thought right now.

In a robe that smothers her body amorphously from the neck down, Ronnie stands behind Barry in the doorway. "That's ridiculous! I— my front ~door~!"

Barry takes the warrant and his eyes read it dozens of times in the four seconds he has it. "Hammerman, this is ridiculous and you know it. You brought SWAT? For me? Come on, man." They haven't known each other long, but Barry wouldn't hurt a fly. Right? There's another exhale and he realizes that he's not leaving here on his own volition, or in any other way than in the back of a paddy-wagon.

This, hurt. But it was what it was. Hammerman was a weathered old soul who possibly called it like it was all too often. So Ronnie, first, gets his attention. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to either go back into the room or wait outside. This is your only warning."

To Barry now, his hand lifts towards the men behind him, his hat soon removed to toy with the brim, pinching the fabric and plex down to straighten it out. "I'd like to put this manpower on the Chief but.." He shakes his head. "Like father like son, Allen. I couldn't take a chance. I'm going to need you to back against the wall with your hands behind your back."

"But—" Ronnie starts to say, but the gears in her mind turn quickly. If the cops have to restrain her it'll be obvious that she's stronger than the average hysterical girlfriend. And if SHIELD steps in and does anything it'll make it REALLY obvious that something's up. For the sake of her cover, she backs down, though for a moment she can see herself fighting her way through the whole group.

"Barry…" Ronnie says, as she slinks back into the room.

"Oh you go to hell, asshole!" Barry says, as his eyes flash with anger. "My dad didn't do that—I was there. You wanna bring a bunch of folks and make a big show of it, then make a big show of it. Cuff me and let's get the hell out of here." Barry Allen doesn't usually curse, but Hammerman hit a nerve. A bad nerve. "And when I'm proved innocent, you are gonna spend years apologizing."

Hammerman reaches out to grasp Barry's wrist. He wasn't forceful, the grip wasn't tight, but he attempted to coax him against the wall even though he had a miniature fit at his expense. "Your father is in jail, Allen. Proven guilty by the court of law." If he could, he'd turn the young man around and motion towards the nearest to to guard Ronnie's door after handing over a pair of cuffs. "Do you realize what this means, Allen? Every fucking case that you've ever worked on, every fucking criminal that you've ever put behind bars will have their day in court. And /you/ will be responsible for letting them loose."

Cuffs in hand, he'd attempt to attach them to both wrists if he has Barry, he wasn't angry, but this needed to be said.

"And I hope for that outcome, Barry. I hope that you're not like your father, because god help us all if you are. God help us /all/."

Ronnie is in her room — but she's listening, and her fists are balled so tightly that her knuckles might split of their own accord. She's frowning so deeply that it's making her neck muscles tense up and twitch. She's not going to attack the cops. But what she's hearing is make her furious.

"Shut your mouth, Hammerman. I'm done talking to you. I know my rights. Let's go," Barry says coldly. Bringing up his father was out of bounds for him and he didn't need to hear that jab. Once it hits the press, and it will, there are enough people in Central City and throughout the country (for those who pay attention to those crime documentaries) to make enough connections. Barry doesn't need this guy to do it.

"No. You know the drill." He begins to read Barry his rights as he leads him out of the apartment, as one of the men left behind who stands in Ronnie's door leaves a paper upon her bed for her to take. "Call this number to have the city replace your door." And.. he leaves. It would have been inappropriate to spare a glance. She was practically naked!

Ronnie is keeping her robe pulled pretty tightly around herself. The last thing the cops get is a free peep. "Wait," she says to the cops, "you can't just take him out dressed like that, he'll freeze, you can't!" For all the good it might do.


Barry follows along, angrily, but one of the officers does through his coat over his shoulders in an attempt to be sure he's warm enough for the trip to the paddy wagon. But he's out of words. Inside him is just a bubbling rage. Hammerman was right about one thing. Like father like son. Both were wrongfully accused, and now the younger won't be able to help the older in his fight for justice…or against cancer.

"He'll be fine ma'am." The last cop standing says to the woman. "There's a blanket in the back that'll keep him warm long enough to get to the precinct for booking." He tips his helmet, then follows the rest out of the apartment.

As the coat was thrown over him, Hammerman nods the cop off as he walks him to the car, he was far along enough that no one could hear his quiet words. "Moore is going to see you once you get to your cell. You need to give him the name of the person who'll put up bail for you. You /cannot/ be guilty, the caliber of criminals that'll be released if you are convicted." Yeah, Allen would know. He worked those cases to the bone to see that justice was served. That's what he appreciated about Allen. He knew, deep down, that Allen was a good guy. "Once you're out, go to the coffee shop across from Stark Tower and ask for Linda. She'll give you a key to a place I have on the outskirts of the city. Case files will be there for you to review and lay low. /Lay/ low while I work my angles on the outside."

As they round the paddy-wagon, Hammerman straightens up, keeping on with the steely gaze he had before. "Get in the back of the van, perp." And with a shove, he pushes Barry inside. Maybe he overdid it a little.

Barry sort of does a double take, "I didn't…I didn't do this." Barry nods slowly, unable to figure out how Hammerman had duped him. He'd been fooled, and he's somewhat thankful. "I need to tell Ronnie," he says quietly. He knows no one rich enough to post the bail for him. This is gonna be an issue.

"I know kid." He mumbles. "I know." And he closes the door behind him. He wouldn't be allowed to see Ronnie, the other cops would realize that he's rooting for Barry, and the sticklers of the law would call him dirty. He smacks a hand against the back of the van, the brim of his hat soon tugged down as he finally reaches into his pocket for his pack of Kools. A cigarette was fished out and lit, and with a deep inhale and a breathy sigh, he looks on at the rear lights in the distance.

"Goddamn it kid. What have you gotten yourself into."

Meanwhile in Brooklyn:

"Alright ladies! The time has come! And remember, you only get one minute with your date. And once that minute is up, the clock will buzz and it'll be time to rotate. Ask all of the questions that matter, and at the end of the round, put the names of your favorites with your name at the top into this crystal ball, and the second round of personal dates in your designated booths will start..

In.. three.. two.. one!"


There was a mix and mingle of people present, women of various states, some a little bit older than most, some as young, college students looking to find a decent man to take care of them, to fulfill their dreams. Each of them wore makeup to perfection, their smiles were bright and winning as they shook hands with each of their suitors, and spoke as quick as they could.

The bell rings, and it was time to shift out. And an older man joins the table with a smile. He looked rather odd, pin-points all around his lips as if they used to be sewn together, but he was dressed and well groomed enough for it not to matter.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Esmerelda." She was a pretty tan lady, petite, hair brown with streaks of blonde, and while that was a choice color, she made it work.

The man said nothing, only looking towards the woman, his eyes watering as he quietly murmurs..


Coming Soon! Chapter 2: Old Sorrowful Wings

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