Chosen

     "You wanted to see me, sir?"
     "Hal, yeah, take a seat," Carl said.
     Hal stepped inside Carl's office and paused when he saw Hector sitting in another chair next to Hal's. He had a familiarly bad feeling about this; the kind you get at a parent-teacher conference.
     "What's this about?" Hal asked.
     Carl gestured toward Hector. "Hector here has brought up some... interesting information about the simulator."
     Great, Hal thought. Snobby idiot's gonna blame me for something so he can get his way.
     "Your simulator pod's been tampered with," Carl explained. "The system's been altered to give the pilot's simulated craft greater abilities even than an F-35 would have in real life."
     "...And you think I did that?" Hal said.
     "Don't try to deny it, Jordan," Hector spat at him. "I've seen you poring over those technical manuals. There's no other cadet here who has the technical know-how to do something like this. All the evidence points to you."
     Hal felt himself tighten a bit with anger. "All the evidence you discovered, you mean?"
     "No one else would have been able to notice it," Hector replied a little bit too quickly.
     Hal looked at Carl for support, but Carl just gave him the "sorry, I can't help you" look.
     Now Hal was getting a bit furious. "Seriously?! You get all pissy because you have to make a few alterations here and there and you decide to take it out on me?"
     "Seriously?" Hector said, mockingly mirroring Hal's tone. "You get your panties in a twist because you got caught cheating?"
     Something about Hector's snakelike attitude struck Hal the wrong way. So Hal struck Hector in the face.
     "THAT'S IT!" Carl boomed. "OUT, JORDAN!"
     Hector, his face bleeding as he lay on the floor, grinned up at Hal. Hal knew better than to argue; he turned around and walked out the door.
     Carl turned to Hector, who was still on the floor. "Stay there a minute." Carl stepped into the hallway and shut his office door.
     "Hal, listen..."
     "You know he's trying to frame me for this!" Hal said.
     Carl nodded. "Probably."
     "So why are you letting him accuse me like this?!"
     Carl sighed. "Listen, Hal, Hector's parents are some of Ferris' Air's biggest financiers. If I just fire him without proof, there's a good chance Ferris Air is sunk."
     "Sunk? What are you talking about?"
     "...The company hasn't been doing great since your dad died. We can't afford to lose the Hammonds. If we could prove Hector tried to frame you, that'd be one thing, but at this point it's your word against his."
     "And his word has millions of dollars behind it."
     "...Yeah. I wish there was another way, Hal, I really do."
     "So unless there's evidence to prove he was the one who tampered with the sim pod, I have to take the blame."
     "Looks that way for the moment."
     Hal read into the situation further. "You'll have to suspend me from classes and maybe deny me access to the base while things are being figured out, and unless you find anything I won't be able to come back."
     "Hal, I promise, we'll do everything we can to figure out the truth here."
     "Save it," Hal snapped as he turned and walked away.

     Hal got in his car and turned the key so hard he nearly broke the ignition switch. Before he could even hit the gas pedal, however, he was nearly blinded by an overwhelming green light. Hal shut his eyes against the light and felt the car being lifted, as if on an elevator. He managed to squint open his eyes and glance out the side window, only to see Coast City a half-mile below him.
     Hal took a deep breath. He recognized this light. It was the same green energy he'd seen on the Javelin two months ago, when he'd glimpsed his "destiny." He felt the energy's power. Something primal, yet focused. Something permeating. Something indomitable.
     The car landed softly on the ground. The light faded. Hal stepped out of the car and looked around. He was in the desert, maybe ten miles away from the city. As Hal turned, he saw a gigantic smoking chunk of broken, molten metal. Hal recognized it instantly as a crash of some sort—though of what kind of craft, he wasn't sure—and immediately ran toward the wreckage. If anyone was in that when it crashed, he or she could still be alive. Hal reached the craft and began pulling away at the metal plates, trying to find the cockpit. A tiny green light flashed beneath one of the metal plates, and Hal lifted it to find a hollow chamber with a man inside.
     As Hal crawled inside the cockpit, he discovered that this man was... different. His skin was a purple-pink, and his facial features were very slightly inhuman. More round, less well-defined. Hal reached for the man to see if he was still alive. Hal noticed the pilot's clothing was skin-tight, but not made of any fabric that Hal had ever seen. It was green and black; the green glowing faintly, while the black was more akin to a shadow. Hal touched a green section of the man's suit and immediately recoiled. It was sizzling hot. Curious, Hal reached for the black section of the suit and felt it was cool to the touch.
     The pilot's eyes opened suddenly and he gasped for air, coughing up spatters of purple blood. The pilot wearily turned to Hal and spoke.
     "Na, dhe cre ben do, eh?"
     Hal shook his head. "I'm sorry? I don't—"
     A green metallic ring on the pilot's middle right finger briefly flashed with light.
     "What is your name?" the pilot said.
     Hal was dumbstruck. "...Hal Jordan."
     "Hal Jordan," the pilot repeated. "I am Abin Sur, Green Lantern of Sector two-eight-one-four. The ring has chosen you."
     "Chosen me for what?!"
     "To replace me. You, above all others on this world, have the ability to overcome fear."
     The pilot weakly gestured towards a corner of the cockpit where a large green metal object sat, somehow undamaged in the midst of the crash. "Take the ring and the lantern."
     The green ring slid off the alien's finger and gently floated toward Hal, landing in his palm.
     The alien put his bloodied hand on Hal's shoulder. "Use its power wisely."
     The alien exhaled and went limp. The green light on his uniform faded to black.

     Hal climbed outside the crash. Overwhelmed, he tried to take everything in. Finally, he opened his hand and looked at the ring. Warily, he took it in his left hand and slid it onto his right hand's middle finger.
     An instant later, he felt every fiber of his body shot through with burning green fire.

Crash

     The canopy of the flight simulator hissed and snapped open. Hal jumped out, furious as he walked across the darkened hangar toward the door to the briefing room. The other eleven simulator pods opened and the other students sat up, watching Hal.

     Cowgirl sighed with sympathy. Hal had taken out the entire remaining enemy force in his maneuver, but he'd also been the only one on the team to "die."

     Carol frowned disapprovingly. Idiot, she thought.

     Hal stormed into the briefing room.

     "Why couldn't I move?!"

     Carl seemed surprised. "The simulator's programmed with all the physical limitations of the real world. If you couldn't pull off a maneuver like that in there, you couldn't do it in real life."

     "Yes I could! I know what it feels like when you push a plane to its limits, and that wasn't it. It just stopped moving."

     "Perhaps I could explain," a smarmy voice said from behind Carl.

     Hal leaned around Carl to see a tall, skinny man in his early twenties.

     "Who the hell are you?" said Hal.

     "Hector Hammond," the young man said, extending his hand.

     "Hector is the one who designed the simulation," Carl said.

     "The reason you couldn't bank that hard," Hector explained, "is that you were pushing the F-35 beyond its safe limits. Any farther and you'd be risking a loss of control at best, and damage to the craft at worst."

     Hal scowled. "So that's it? You programmed in the safety precautions? You have no idea what flying's even like, do you?!"

     Hector cleared his throat and straightened his tie, a smug grin on his face. "Well, I might not have your, uh, hands-on experience, but I know a thing or two about how the things you think you're flying actually work."

     Carl could see Hal's temper flaring and intervened. "Let's calm down for a minute. Hal, are you saying that the forced safety parameters were actually putting you in greater danger?"

     "YES," Hal said exasperatedly.

     Carl thought about it for a minute.

     "Alright. Hector, I want you to redo the simulation. Take the training wheels off."

     Hector looked like someone had insulted his mother. "What?! Mr. Ferris, you can't seriously—"

     "Do it, Hector."

     Hector suppressed his anger. "Sir, if Mister..." Hector checked the name on Hal's flight suit. "...Jordan hadn't tried a completely unsafe maneuver, this wouldn't have mattered!"

     "Tell ya what," Hal said. "You actually become a pilot, you learn to fly, you get into combat, THEN you tell me what does or doesn't matter."

     Hector half-sneered and half-chuckled. "You pilots are what won't matter in about five years."

     Hal rolled his eyes. Hector was one of those "automated drones will dominate warfare" people. The ones who assumed that technology was the real important factor, and pilots were too subject to human error.

     "That's enough," Carl said. "Hector, get to work on that sim. Hal, take a break. Now."

     Not far from Ferris Air, a stone pillar stood atop a small grassy hill. That pillar contained a radio antenna that picked up air traffic control signals from both Ferris Air and the nearby Broome Airfield, pumping out the audio through speakers. This was a mildly popular park, especially for plane enthusiasts.

     Hal sat atop the hill alone, staring out at Ferris Air.

     "Somehow I knew you and Hector wouldn't get along," Carol's voice said from behind him.

     "What are you doing here, Carol?"

     Carol sat down next to him. "You're under my command. It's my job to make sure you're good enough to fly."

     Hal glared at her. "Carol, drop it. I don't need your bitchy attitude any more than I need Hector being a smug jackass about how pilots are obsolete."

     Carol was surprised. "He said that?"

     "'You pilots won't matter in five years;' yeah."

     Carol rolled her eyes. "He told me the exact opposite yesterday when he asked me out to dinner."

     Hal raised an eyebrow. "What'd you say?"

     Carol smirked. "I told him to screw off."

     Hal chuckled. "Wish I coulda seen that."

     Carol sighed. "Hal, I'm sorry for treating you the way I have. I've just... I've just been so... buried under all this responsibility my dad's been giving me."

     "Why's he doing that, anyway? I mean, you're the squadron leader and apparently your dad's assistant? On top of being a cadet and a high school student?"

     "...He wants me to take over."

     "Take over what?"

     "Ferris Air."

     Hal wished he was drinking something so he could dramatically spit it out. "FERRIS AIR?!"

     "...Yeah. When he retires, he wants me to be his replacement."

     "I thought you wanted to be a pilot."

     "I do. I did. Maybe I still do. That's why I'm in the training program. But I also know that my dad needs my help."

     "Why does he need help?"

     Carol was silent for several seconds.

     "...Carol?"

     "...He's sick, Hal."

     Hal wasn't sure what to say.

     "Carol, I'm sorry. What is it?"

     "Cancer, we think. We don't really know yet; they're still doing tests."

     "Remember when we were kids?" Carol asked. "And our dads would bring us out here?"

     "Yeah."

     "I miss those days."

     Hal felt a sting of loss. "Me too."

     "You know, if your dad were... still around... my dad would have probably given the company to him instead."

     Hal turned to Carol, a little shocked. "...It would've taken a lot to get my dad out of a pilot's seat and behind a desk. But for your dad... he'dve done it."

     Carol gently grabbed Hal's arm. "We miss him here. We always have. He was a really good man."

     "I know."

Seven Years Ago

     The crowd cheered as the Javelin-1 soared three hundred feet above. Ten-year-old Hal Jordan could barely contain himself.
     "Control, this is Highball," a voice crackled over the radio.
     Carol rolled her eyes. Hal always got excited whenever his dad flew in one of these air shows. But it was always the same every time. Hal's dad would pull off all kinds of amazing stunts that only he could do in only the best Ferris prototype jets, the crowd would go crazy, and her daddy would be happy afterwards because of something he called "new investors."
     Hal couldn't believe how amazing his life was. He had the coolest dad in the world. Seriously, what did anyone else's dad do? Drive a bus? Do someone else's taxes? Coach soccer? Hal's dad flew at Mach 3 in jets that no one else had touched yet. He even brought Hal up with him once or twice; it was the most thrilling feeling Hal could imagine.
     "Control, I have a problem here. I'm leaking oil and the last of my torque pins just failed."
     Carl turned away from the crowd and spoke into his radio. "What?! We just sent it in for repair..."
     "It's coming down, now."
     "Alright, bring her in safely."
     "Can't risk it. The crowd's too close to the runway. I'm bringing her down right here."
     Hal watched as the Javelin, with his father inside it, crashed nose-first into the nearby field and became a fireball.

Maverick

     Hal felt a rush of familiar adrenaline as he drove through the gate at Ferris Air. The same feeling he felt as a boy when he'd sneak in and watch his dad fly. Being a pilot was in his veins, and this place was his heart. It was good to be back in Coast City.
     Hal parked in front of the brand-new building labeled "Academy" and hopped out of his Challenger, not even bothering to lock the door. People here were basically like family. When Hal walked inside, there was no receptionist like at the Wayne-Ferris Academy near Metropolis. Instead, clearly-marked hallways led to the main offices, where Hal was supposed to meet Carl Ferris.
     Carl was Hal's father's best friend and boss. He was also the one who founded Ferris Air, and somewhat of a legend in the aircraft engineering business. He wasn't an engineer himself, merely a businessman, but he was smart enough to let the engineers and pilots lead the way while keeping them in line when necessary. Hal always thought of him like an uncle. Probably was closer to Carl than to most of his real family anyway.
     Hal stopped at the door with Carl's name on it, knocked casually once, then opened it. Instead of the slightly rotund and aging man Hal expected to see, he found a dark-haired, gorgeous young woman with piercing blue eyes.
     The girl almost did a double-take. "Hal?!"
     "Carol?!"
     Carol Ferris stood up and walked over. "I... what are you doing here?!"
     "I transferred here after the thing in Metropolis. Didn't your dad tell you?"
     "...No. He didn't."
     "That's weird; I thought you'd be the first person he'd tell."
     "We were friends when we were eight, Hal. We weren't married."
     "Yeah, but still... wow, Carol, I barely recognized you for a minute there."
     Carol squinted. "Why?"
     Hal glanced her up and down for a second. "Well... you're all hot now."
     Carol slapped him hard enough to echo down the hallway.
     "I'm your boss now, Hal. Don't you dare try to flirt with me."
     Hal rubbed his cheek. "Wait, boss? How? Id've thought you'd be a pilot cadet."
     Carol reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her Ferris Air ID. "I am. But I'm also in charge of the entire team of cadets. Including you."
     Hal couldn't resist grinning at her.
     "What?!" said Carol, frustrated at Hal's complete lack of respect.
     "Nothing," Hal replied, "you're just as bossy as you were when you were eight."
     Carol might have slapped him again if not for Carl Ferris suddenly walking up from behind Hal.
     "Hal!" Carl said, shaking Hal's hand. "Nice to see you back in Coast City!"
     Carl eyed the red patch on Hal's face. "I see you and Carol have been catching up."
     "Yeah," said Hal. "Fun times."

     "Your targets are F-22s," Carl said. The display screen behind him showed a 3D diagram of an F-22 Raptor.
     "You'll be flying F-35s. As you probably know, F-22s are superior to F-35s in air-to-air combat, but not by a lot. With enough skill, you might be able to take them down."
     The room full of cadets focused intently on Carl's instructions, but Hal wasn't even looking at the screen. Across the darkened briefing room, he'd spotted Jillian Pearlman—Cowgirl—the blonde country girl he met at Wayne-Ferris. Apparently she'd transferred, too. Hal wondered if she followed him on purpose. Then he wondered if that thought made him a narcissist. It probably did.
     "Mr. Jordan?" Carl said, snapping Hal's attention back to the front of the class. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us some of the technical specifications of the F-35 in comparison to the F-22."
     "Yes, sir," Hal replied quickly. "The F-22 is approximately 50% faster than the F-35, with twice the altitude limit. The F-35's only real advantage in air-to-air combat is its larger fuel supply, which probably won't come into play in most combat situations."
     "That's right," Carl said, suppressing a grin. Hal might not be one for strict behavior, but he sure did his homework. "You'll be at a disadvantage in nearly every way, so be ready. Dismissed."
     Hal and the rest of the cadets made their way to the hangar, where they strapped into their cockpits and ran through startup procedures. Ten minutes later, they were in the air and ready for combat.

     The sky was a mess of chaos. Hal rolled his eyes; most of these cadets had no idea what they were doing. They knew how their planes worked, but they didn't have the feel for them that Hal, Carol, and Cowgirl did.
     This is ridiculous, Carol thought. We're flying against automated pilots and we still can't get a shot on them.
     "Sapphire, this is Highball. What do you say you, me, and Cowgirl split off and take these guys on by ourselves?"
     "Negative, Highball," Carol replied, "we stay with our group."
     Hal read the subtext in her voice: Or they'll all get shot down without us.
     "We can't avoid target locks and keep using countermeasures forever," Hal insisted. "If we stay on the defensive, we'll never win."
     Cowgirl's voice crackled over the comm channel. "Ah'm with Highball on this one, Sapphire."
     Carol sighed inwardly. They were probably right. "Okay. Highball, Cowgirl, with me. The rest of you, try to keep yourselves safe."
     The trio broke off from the tangle of planes circling each other and curved back around from a different angle.
     Hal fired a burst of machine gun fire over the top of an enemy craft, then immediately pitched down and fired a missile. Sure enough, the F-22 ducked reflexively under the brief hail of bullets but slammed right into the missile's path. Hal let out a whoop, and Carol was happy enough to have at least one target down that she didn't scold him.
     Cowgirl let a Raptor get on her tail, then dipped, cut the engines, and flipped her plane end-to-end without stopping, effectively flying backwards. She fired off a missile and hit her target dead-on.
     "Fancy moves there, Cowgirl," Hal said. "Where you learn to fly like that?"
     "My daddy was a stunt pilot; I learned from the best."
     "Cut the chatter, ladies," Carol interjected as she landed a hit on an enemy F-22. "Highball, you've got one on your tail. Watch it."
     Hal dodged back and forth a bit, diving into a few corkscrews and even a couple of those drifting tricks that Cowgirl made look so easy, but this particular pilot couldn't be shaken. All the usual options were out; it was time to try something a little crazy. Hal let the enemy creep up on him from behind, slowly closing the distance. Hal cut his engines and pitched up slightly, suddenly dragging backward along a path that would take him right over the enemy. But, of course, Hal knew that wouldn't work. This pilot seemed a bit too good. He wouldn't fall for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Instead of letting the plane fall behind the F-22, Hal punched his engines to maximum thrust right as he flew over the target, blasting the Raptor with 34 tons of fiery force. The F-22 spun downward like a swatted fly and exploded before it hit the ground.
     Something clicked in Hal's mind. These enemy pilots were literally unable to account for more than a few potential threats at a time. They were completely unprepared for unorthodox tactics. Hal turned back toward the tangle of fighters and dove in, skipping from target to target, firing a missile here and a burst of cannon fire there. He pushed the F-35 to its limit, running at full speed while twisting in every which direction. Eventually, Hal tried to pull the plane into a sharp climb but the plane simply stopped, drifting forward. Hal pulled and pulled on the stick, but it wouldn't move. Finally, Hal's plane slammed into an F-22 and exploded.

Speed Skating

   Iris ran up the stairwell and made her way to Snart's apartment.
   "Score!" she thought. "Got here before the cops."
   But someone else had gotten there, too, apparently. The door was open; its broken handle on the floor. Iris cautiously opened the door. She found the room cluttered and dark, with a gigantic chunk of ice sitting in the middle of the room. Iris looked around, confused. The ice dripped and melted in the warm room, leaving a puddle on the floor.
   Iris moved closer to the ice, rubbing away the frost covering it. She jumped back when she saw what was inside: a man in a red shiny ski mask. Suddenly, she felt the floor vibrate and saw the man inside the ice turn into a dark blur. The entire block of ice quickly melted, leaving the man behind.
   The masked man fell to his knees, breathing heavily. Iris crouched down to help him. She noticed his jacket: red, shiny, slick... the wheels in her head started turning.
   Barry looked up into her eyes, grateful he was still wearing his mask.
   "...You're the red blur, aren't you?" Iris asked.
   Barry nodded, still barely breathing.
   "What... what happened here? Who are you?!"
   "Snart built a gun. Freezes stuff, apparently."
   "How did you get... um... un-frozen?"
   "Vibrated my body really fast."
   "...You vibrated yourself?"
   Barry took one last deep breath and stood up.
   "I've gotta go find Snart before the cops do, or things'll get messy."
   "Where's he going?" Iris asked.
   "Don't know."
   "So then where are you going to look?"
   "Everywhere."
   Barry zoomed out of the apartment.

   Snart stood in the center of an intersection, blasting away at the police that had surrounded him. In less than a minute, he'd built up a wall of ice sealing off the police. He might actually get away...
   "Nice parka, Captain Cold."
   Snart turned around to see Barry.
   "What?! I left you frozen!"
   "Uh-huh. Now seriously, we need to talk about this look of yours. Blue parka with white fur? Really? What are you, Eskimo Man?"
   "...You're wearing a... a shiny ski mask!"
   "...Okay, yeah. You have a point. I guess I do need to revamp my look now that people are actually seeing me and all."
   "Are you just going to sit there and talk?!"
   "Nope."
   Barry rushed forward like lightning, then felt his footing slip. Snart had already coated the street around him with a thin sheet of perfectly smooth ice. Barry fell on his back and slid past Snart, into the ice wall on the other side. Snart aimed his gun and shot a burst of cold at Barry; Barry quickly got his body moving to keep from freezing, jumped to his feet, and tried running again. This time, when Barry put his foot down, he slightly vibrated it, melting the ice underneath and giving him traction. But as Barry moved closer to Snart, he felt himself get slower and slower. He eventually realized that he wasn't even moving at super-speed anymore.
   "Heh. Feel that?" Snart taunted. "That's your molecules slowing down. Cold affects everything."
   Barry did everything he could to keep his teeth from chattering.
   "You seem pretty smart, Leonard. Why'd you resort to stealing?"
   "Don't you judge me, 'Blur.' I have my reasons."

   Barry was stuck now; he couldn't move an inch closer, and he was losing heat fast. He raised his arm and moved it in a circular motion as fast as he could. It acted like a fan, blowing the cold blast back in Snart's face. Snart yelled in surprise, brushing off the layer of frost on his body. Before he could blink, however, he felt Barry's fist slamming into his face.
 

   Barry, back in his normal clothes, met up with Forrest at the icy crime scene.

   "Do we have a motive?" Barry asked. "It seems like someone with his brilliance could do better than simple theft."

   "His sister is in the hospital. She's got some kind of rare illness; the working theory is that he was going to use the tech to get money for her treatment. Kind of a crazy way of doing that, but I guess with a gun like that he figured he'd be invincible."

   Barry suddenly felt guilty, even though he knew he shouldn't.

   "...What's going to happen to his sister now? If he doesn't even have a job, then..."

   "I'll pay for her treatment."

   Forrest and Barry turned around to see Darwin Elias walking up.

   "I remember interviewing Leonard for a lab assistant position; I rejected him because he didn't have the practical experience. If I hadn't, then maybe he wouldn't have tried stealing. I'm not saying what he did was right, of course, but there's no reason his sister should have to pay for that with her life."

   Forrest smiled. "That's awfully kind of you, Dr. Elias."

   Barry sat at the coffee shop waiting for Iris. The irony was not lost on him. Suddenly, a newspaper fell into his lap, and Iris fell into the chair across from him.

   "Guess who just made the Central City Citizen front page?!" Iris said, her face beaming.

   Barry looked at the title story:

   THE FLASH VS. CAPTAIN COLD

   Barry frowned. "The Flash?"

   "Yeah! 'The Red Blur' was just so nondescript. And after having actually seen him move, with the way lightning sparkles... I'd say he's definitely more of a Flash."

   Barry rolled his eyes. Sometimes he felt like Iris was more of an annoyance than anything else. And sometimes he felt like he could spend the rest of his life with her.