There seems to be no end to the stream of students pouring out the doors
of Keystone High School. The older juniors and most of the seniors
immediately, of course, dart for their cars; the pathetic freshmen
desperately try to make their buses, and the sophomores and younger
juniors can be spotted trying to cadge rides off their more privileged
fellows. It's a veritable flood of writhing teenaged mass, and smack in
the middle of it, Bart Allen's slouching down the steps next to his friend
Preston. The young speedster is bookless, hands in his pockets, making
vague affirmative noises whenever the blond teen next to him makes a
suggestion.

Something...on the periphery of Bart's vision. Could he be imagining it?
There's a definite feeling of uneasuness as he steps out into the streets.
It's been bothering him all day. Of course, his superspeed senses would be
able to detect anyone nearby before they could hide away...but there's
definitely a feeling of being watched. Constantly. Through the windows of
the classrooms, in the hallway, at lunch...the feeling has persisted. The
paranoia increases now, as he moves out into a wide open area. Looking
about, he can spot nothing unusual about his surroundings.

Tossing Preston a casual salute and a preoccupied "Catch ya later," Bart
crosses the street and slows considerably when he gets to the other side.
The feeling's practically got his skin crawling at this point, and he
figures it's probably - very probably - not just nothing. Uncomfortably,
he starts walking down the sidewalk, toward Wally's house, resisting the
urge to constantly glance over his shoulder to see if he's being followed.
Finally, he gets to a park, and decides to wait it out. The teenager takes
a seat on the merry-go-round, pulling his feet up on the surface and
resting his chin on his knees. "Whenever you're ready," he says softly,
half-assuming he's talking to himself.

No response. At least not immediately. A cold East wind tosses and tumbles
a stray piece of paper down the street, adding to the deserted feeling of
the park. A few more moments. Still, nothing. Even the school yard begins
to clear out as those with places to go begin their journies. Odd. The
feeling continues...and something else. This time, a sighting out of the
corner of the young hero's eyes, and a slightly buzzing noise. A brief
glimpse of a tall humanoid figure, and then it's gone as if it never
existed.

Bart Allen, superhero and student both, starts to look irritated.
"Dammit," he says, dropping his feet to the ground and leaning forward,
gripping the edge of the merry-go-round, "whoever you are, I know you're
here. You're about as subtle as a ton of day-glo orange bricks. Whatever
you're trying to do, it isn't cute, okay? What do you want?" His amber
eyes flash in annoyance, and he stands. "I'm giving you a chance to quit
being a creep, here. I -could- just take off, y'know."

That buzz again. A humanoid figure suddenly emerges from seemingly
nowhere. His body slowly ceases it's odd movement, and becomes a simple
man, in a grey trenchcoat and fedora, which shade his features and give
that all-too-mysterious look to him. He seems almost constantly in shadow.
Reaching up, he tips his hat slightly at Bart, and the glint of a faint
smile can be seen even beneath all his heavy shading. Without a word, the
man turns and begins walking toward the nearby street, where a black sedan
appears to be driving in his direction.

Staring for a moment, Bart's face suddenly lights up. "Cigarette Smoking
Man! You got weirdass powers! Congrats, man!" He starts trailing after the
be-trenched fellow, hands clasped behind his back. "Yo, -William-! Wait
up, will you? I thought you fell apart after the whole thing with the
Zantrosians..." What the -hell- is he talking about? Oh, it appears that
the poor sod believes in recurring guest characters. Wow. And you'd think
the younger generation of heroes would be completely cured of such
expectations. Also, it could be the coat.

The sedan stops. The man continues towards it, without paying the
slightest regard to the young man's banter. The door opens to even less
light, revealing nothing of the inside of the car. For just a moment, the
figure turns to regard his follower, and then himself enters the rear car
door, closing it behind him. The sedan doesn't move, but the engine hums
as it's still running. Mirrored tinted windows show the reflection of the
nearby trees, but little else.

Crossing his arms, Bart stops about five feet from the car. "William
woulda smacked me for bringing up the spaghetti-heads. So you're obviously
not him." He stands there patiently, eyebrows up. "If you think I'm
climbing into a car with a Creepy Adult Stranger, especially in a car with
tinted windows, you've got another think comin'." After a thoughtful
second, he sighs, letting his hands drop to his sides; wordlessly, he
walks around the back of the car, looking for the license place. "I do
wanna know," he calls a little louder, continuing his monologue, "why
you've been -watching- me all day."

The car window comes down, the whirring of it's mechanical engines cuts
through the silence. And then finally, the man can be heard to speak. "You
are currently under investigation in connection with the disappearance of
Property that belongs to our employers. This investigation is the first
phase of our attempt to reclaim that property. Anything else is classified
information." The perfect monotone of the voice has an almost robotic
quality to it. It appears to be emanating from inside the vehicle, though
no actual speaker can be gleaned. Odd. And yet another oddity is the
perfectly black plate where a registered vehicle license should be. No
markings whatsoever. The window is still rolled down, but nothing more is
said, for the moment.

Is this a cough, or a laugh? Whatever it is, it betrays the rather sick
feeling balling up in the center of the Teen Tornado's stomach. Bart comes
back around to the window, still giving the car a healthy berth. His arms,
however, are now crossed tightly over his abdomen, hands hidden. "Look,"
he says, voice holding a sort of forced, tense calmness, "if you think I
stole something of yours, why don't you just arrest me and ask all kinds
of bizarre questions, like 'Where were you on the night of July 15th,
1972?' This creeping around in the shadows thing is -old-, I tell you." He
takes an unconscious step backwards, jaw tightening. "I mean, Batman can
get away with it, but that's because he has this whole 'on the side of
good' thing going. Lay off me until you think you have something solid,
will you? I have a big English project due next week."

Again, silence. No immediate response to Bart's quips or comments, giving
the impression that whoever these people are, /they/ are in complete
control. A moment later, the quiet is broken with that same monotone.
"Very well. Your compliance in the future is to be expected. Persuasion
will be used if necessary." Why does the word sound so /dirty/ just then?
"We will be watching." Without a single utterance more, the window rolls
up to the closed position again, leaving Bart staring into his own
reflection. The car ceases idling, and begins to pull away, down the road.
Even stranger, for an older model vehicle, it sure is quiet running.