Ordinary Man to the Fastest Alive

Chapter 1: If Only 

The apartment was a mess. 

Pizza boxes were stacked precariously on the coffee table, empty soda cans littered the floor, and a half-folded pile of laundry sat abandoned on the couch. 

Ethan Payn, a 22-year-old with tousled blond hair and a lean, athletic build, was sprawled on the couch, his blue eyes glued to the screen. An episode of his favourite TV show, The Flash was playing.

"The writers really did screw up after season 3. Stupid show should have just ended with Barry walking into the Speed Force." Ethan mumbled as he switched the TV off.

He glanced around his apartment, the reality of his life hitting him like a punch to the gut. Unpaid bills on the counter, the half-finished resume on the table, the gym bag in the corner that hadn't been touched in months—it all screamed ordinary. 

Ethan stood up, stretching his arms above his head, and wandered into the kitchen. 

As he filled a glass with water, he caught his reflection in the window. For a moment, he imagined himself in the Flash's suit, lightning dancing around him. He smirked and shook his head. 

"For fucks sake I must be getting schizophrenic," he muttered to himself. "Mom was right, it's the damn TV, if not why would I be day dreaming about having powers."

He finished the water, set the glass in the sink, and headed to bed. As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, his mind wandered back to the show. 

"If only," he thought one last time before drifting off to sleep. 

Outside, the night was quiet. But somewhere in the distance, a storm was brewing. 

The storm rolled in quietly at first. 

Dark clouds gathered over the city, blotting out the stars. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low growl that seemed to echo through the streets. 

Rain began to fall, tapping gently against Ethan's window as he slept, oblivious to the world outside. 

Inside his apartment, the air felt heavy, charged with an energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up—if he'd been awake to notice. 

Then it happened. 

A brilliant bolt of lightning split the sky, arcing down with impossible precision. It struck the building, passing through the walls as if they weren't even there. 

The light filled Ethan's room, blinding and electric, yet it left no mark—no scorched walls, no shattered glass. It was as if the lightning existed in another dimension, untouchable and unseen by the world around it. 

Ethan stirred in his sleep, his body twitching as the lightning enveloped him. For a moment, he glowed, his form outlined in crackling white energy. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the lightning was gone. 

The room fell silent. 

Ethan's eyes fluttered open, but only for a second as he mumbled something.

"This house is Bitchin."

Something had changed. 

As he slept, faint tendrils of Silver lightning danced across his skin, flickering like static electricity. His body hummed with a strange, restless energy, as if it were waking up from a long slumber. 

The storm outside began to fade, the thunder growing distant, the rain slowing to a drizzle. By the time the first rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds, the storm was gone, leaving no trace of its passing. 

Except for Ethan. 

---

Ethan woke up feeling... different. 

For the first time in months, he didn't hit snooze on his alarm. He sat up in bed, stretching his arms above his head, and felt a surge of energy coursing through him. 

He hadn't felt this well-rested in years. 

"Huh," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe I should skip watching TV before bed more often."

Usually, he would stay up watching shows till 3-4am, but now he had gone to sleep fairly early.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his movements unusually smooth and effortless. He didn't think much of it as he shuffled to the bathroom.

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Ethan grabbed his toothbrush, squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto it, and reached for the tap. 

He turned the handle. 

Nothing happened. 

Ethan frowned, leaning closer to the sink. He twisted the tap again, but still, no water came out. 

"Great," he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Did they shut off my water? I told them I'd pay the bills..."

He sighed and trudged back to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. As he poured some into a mug, he glanced at the microwave clock. 

"It's odd they didn't shut off the power too," he thought, scratching his head. "Guess I'll have to call the landlord later."

Mug in hand, he walked back to the bathroom. That's when he saw it. 

The water was flowing. 

But it wasn't normal. 

The droplets hung in the air, suspended like tiny glass beads, before slowly, painfully slowly, falling into the sink. It was as if time itself had slowed down. Ethan blinked, convinced he was still half-asleep and seeing things. 

He reached out, poking one of the droplets with his finger. It wobbled, then continued its sluggish descent. 

"What the...?" Ethan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. 

He stared at the tap, then at the mug of water in his hand, then back at the tap. His heart began to race, but not from fear—from something else. Something he couldn't quite put into words. 

"The fuck is going on," he said aloud, as if saying it would make it real. 

Ethan stared at the slow-motion water, his mind racing. He waved his hand through the droplets, scattering them like marbles. 

Panic set in. He stumbled back, the world around him warping—sounds deepening, light stretching. 

"What's happening to me?!" he shouted, his voice echoing unnaturally. 

He turned to leave, but his body moved too fast. In a blur, he crashed into the mirror. 

The glass shattered, shards exploding outward in slow motion. Ethan felt the sting as pieces pierced his skin. He fell back, landing hard on the bathroom floor, blood dripping from his hands. 

"What the fuck?!" he screamed, staring at the cuts. 

Shaking, he grabbed a towel and began cleaning up the glass. As he worked, he noticed something strange. 

His wounds were already closed. 

No scars, no bleeding—just smooth skin and some dried up blood.

Ethan froze, his breath catching. 

"Do I have super speed?" Ethan thought, his mind racing. "This should be impossible. This shouldn't even be a thing..." 

But the evidence was right in front of him. His wounds had healed in seconds. 

The water had moved in slow motion. 

And now, as he stood in the middle of his trashed bathroom, he felt... different. Like his body was humming with energy, waiting to be unleashed. 

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding. "Okay, Ethan. If this is real… I should be able to do it again." 

He focused, trying to will himself to move faster.

Ethan looked down at his hands and saw it—silver lightning crackling around his fingers, dancing across his skin like static. 

"Holy shit," he murmured, his voice trembling. "This is real." 

He took a step forward, and the world slowed even more. The air felt thick, like wading through syrup, but his body moved effortlessly. 

He took another step, then another, until he was running through his apartment. 

The lightning around him grew brighter, wrapping his body in a shimmering aura. Ethan couldn't help but laugh, a wild, disbelieving sound. 

'Kind of similar to Godspeed,' he thought, remembering the white-suited speedster from the show. 

He skidded to a stop in the middle of the living room, the lightning fading as the world snapped back to normal. His chest heaved, not from exhaustion, but from sheer exhilaration. 

"If this is a dream," he whispered, a grin spreading across his face, "I don't ever want it to stop."