Catalyst (probably not going to update anymore, don't watch the show anymore)

Chapter 115

My head pounded from the bright lights of the Cortex, and I felt dizzy. Caitlin had returned from her break just in time to help us stop the monster that was terrorizing the city, but . . . it wasn't a monster.

The monster was just a hologram being controlled by a scared kid.

Also, we discovered that HR is a complete fraud and is just a sci-fi romance writer. I had called a team meeting in the Cortex so we could question HR's intentions, and also how the hell he solved that puzzle we sent out if he's a moron.

"You were named entrepreneur of the decade by tech magazine," Cisco stated, reading what HR was pointing at with his drum stick on the monitor.

"That's right," he chirped. How the hell could that be right? I rested my head on my hand was I stared at HR from the desk chair.

Cisco continued to question, "Is any of what's on here true?"

HR glanced at his "list of achievements", and replied proudly, "All of it."

"How?" Barry snapped from behind me, "You can barely turn on a computer."

My eyes locked with HR, and I raised my eyebrow, expecting a damn good reason as to why he was on this earth.

He sighed, explaining terribly, "There are two parts to every idea. There is the inception and the execution. I provide the former."

I huffed, questioning him from my chair, "So you just come up with the ideas?"

"I don't know how to implement them," HR explained, trying to cover his ass, "I'm the idea guy."

"So, you didn't actually sole the cryptogram that we sent you?" Caitlin snapped.

"No," he replied, "that was my partner at Star Labs on my Earth. I'm the face of the company, more of the inspiration behind the company. Then I was exposed; people thought that I was something that I wasn't, anyway, it kind of all fell apart for me. But, then I got your message. My partner brought me your message, and I realized that he's bringing me an opportunity to come to this earth to write this book."

Glaring at HR, I sneered, "In an infinite number of universes, we were so lucky to pick the one Wells who isn't a scientist."

"You're right," he huffed.

"I usually am," I replied, coldly.

"I wasn't completely honest with all of you. I feel badly about that, and I regret that. But, let me ask you a question, Finnegan," he sat down in a rolling chair, and began to roll closer to me. "Has there been none amongst you that has ever shaded the truth for what you believed to be the greater good?"

Wally stated, savagely, "Sounds to me like you're a conman." Absolutely wrecked.

Everybody agreed, and Barry let out a chuckle.

"Was I a conman when I showed San Francisco how to track the beast using car alarms? Was I a conman when I showed him how to fashion a rope using carbon fiber?" he retorted.

"I came up with those ideas!" Cisco shouted.

HR corrected, "You were prompted by my suggestions."

"Are you serious?" I chuckled.

"That is how ideas work, people! You need a muse, and I can be your muse," HR shouted, waving his arms around flamboyantly.

Wally, who is my favorite person at this moment, questioned, "What about stopping all the metas on your earth?"

"More of an advisory rule for me, but I was there. I remember how we—" HR explained, but when he noticed everybody rolling their eyes, he snapped, "You don't think that's something? Let me present you with a scenario: You're confronted with something, a threat that you've never seen before, and you don't know how to stop it. Who does?" he pointed to himself using a drumstick. "That's value to you. Let me prove my worth to you," HR begged. "If I fail, woosh! Right back to my earth. But, if I succeed, succeed in not just redeeming myself, but also . . . I would have done some good with my life."

I rested my fingers on my temple, staring HR down coldly. "You're lucky that we value redemption here at Star Labs. You have two weeks to prove yourself to us, and if you fail, I'm sending you back to Earth-19."

HR fell to his knees, worshiping me. "Thank you!

________

Heat blasted from the vents in my office, sweat dripped down my face, and the large windows over looking the city skyline were completely fogged. Yet, nothing seemed to be curing the frozen wasteland inside of me.

My body ached, and the world around me felt unfamiliar. I couldn't stop shaking as chills ran marathons up and down my spine, the tears flowing from my eyes were violently shaken off my cheeks.

The blood in my veins was colder than ice, and my heart pounded furiously, desperately trying to keep itself warm.

The office was completely dark, only the glow from the city lit the room. Nobody could see me like this. This was my shame. What was I being shamed for exactly? For taking V-10 again. I can't stop.

What the drug does to you when you take it is unbearable. What it does to you when you don't take it is unbearable. What the fuck do I do? Should I keep taking it for those few hours of bliss even though the come down is absolute hell? Or should I force myself to stop taking it and make myself even more sick so I never want to use it again?

I sat on the black, carpeted floor next to my desk, facing the blurred windows. In the white trashcan next to me was bloody vomit and a broken coffee mug.

I was so fucking sick.

Never before had I felt so alone in the world. I had created the hell I was living in, and I had absolutely no control over anything in this little world. Like a daedric prince, V-10 controlled everything in my plane of oblivion, bending me to its will.

Nobody else is to blame for my suffering. I did this. I created V-10. I chose to inject it into my arm the first time. I chose to keep taking it even though the come downs were hell. This is my fault.

Nobody should feel sorry for me, I deserve this.