#lightninghaste1

“Covert” operations had never been Roman’s signature. To the contrary, he had never been shy about exposing his face for fear of backlash. Besides, there was something to be said for the small stroke of ego that was abounded in the face of your own image gazing back at you from news reels and wanted posters. Perhaps it was fair to say that Roman took too much pride in his knack for notoriety; or else, that he had amassed an excessive indifference towards the blank slate his extended absence had earned for him.

So armed and mask-less had he infiltrated a quiet corner jewelry shop, mentally ticking down the seconds until which backup would arrive in response to the silent alarm triggered by the shattering of a shop window. It wasn’t the first time Roman had been here-- nor the last. After all, it was simply the shopkeeper’s sour luck to have rented an empty space perfectly poised at the farthest reaches of either Sector oo2 or oo3′s police stations.

A sparkling Rolex affixed to his wrist, Roman took his time scrutinizing the merchandise free for the taking before him. After all, he had the time to spare (a fact reinforced by the audible tick of a glistening gold second hand)-- or so he had thought.

A residual rush of wind to grace his back forced a hand to clasp his hat before it was unseated by the unexpected gust. So to follow did the criminal turn on his heel to confront the source of the disturbance.

“Juuust great.” These words arrived in an exasperated hiss beneath Roman’s breath as light eyes came to rest upon the outline of the scarlet speedster. And, while considerably longer and lankier than the Red to whom he was accustomed, the mere idea of contesting a foe who harbored similar gifts inflamed his ire.

“Care for a watch? Looks as though gold really is your color.” Roman remarked, his casual tone meant to maintain an air of ease in spite of this unforeseen complication.