Enrique, mírate. ¿Por qué haces esto? Podrías ser tantas cosas con tu tamaño. Probablemente incluso podrías competir con otras personas de tu tamaño en ese campo”. imploró Damon Cole, uno de los padres de la escuela primaria local y conocido del dedicado guardia de cruce.

Henry Stubbins se paró frente a un automóvil en movimiento y levantó su cartel para que un grupo de estudiantes pudiera cruzar la calle camino a la escuela.

“Para mí, proteger a estos niños es más importante que cualquier otra cosa en este mundo. Por eso lo hago”. le gritó al padre, que no se cruzó con sus tres hijos, esperando obtener una respuesta más profunda.

“Pero cualquiera podría hacer este trabajo, ¡¿por qué tú ?!”

Henry se rió entre dientes y le indicó a Damon que pasara, levantando una mano para disculparse con el frustrado conductor atrapado esperando. La familia avanzó arrastrando los pies y se reanudó el tráfico. Henry contempló la pregunta, sabiendo su respuesta pero curioso por qué Damon presionó por una. Habían pasado muchos años desde que su hija Bianca desapareció de un paso de peatones. Prometió hacer cualquier cosa para que los cruces peatonales sean más seguros.

Otro grupo de niños empezó a cruzar. Henry sostuvo su cartel y mostró una cara severa hacia los carriles estancados. Detrás de los coches detenidos, algo se movió rápidamente hacia él. La fuerza de su movimiento hizo a un lado los vehículos y pasó zumbando junto a él y los niños, pasando a través de su dominio.

"¡DETENER!" Henry volvió la cabeza y gritó. El velocista miró hacia atrás en el movimiento borroso, pero continuó moviéndose, rápidamente fuera de la vista.

Los estudiantes se sorprendieron, pero Henry conocía su deber. Esto no sólo fue ilegal. Fue peligroso. Fue injusto. Él detendría a aquellos que no obedecieran.

Una vez que todos los cruces de peatones estuvieron cerrados por ese día, Henry se retiró a su apartamento. No fue difícil seguir al velocista. Aparentemente, lo habían rastreado por todo el país y ahora se cartografiaba que se dirigía hacia la costa.

Incluso con su tamaño, Stubbins sabía que no sería capaz de detener por completo a un ser tan poderoso. Necesitaría ayuda.

Afortunadamente, Henry conoció una vez a una mujer llamada Alba cuando intentaba localizar a Bianca, que podría estar dispuesta a ayudar. Un viaje rápido a su casa y un golpe en la puerta los reuniría a los dos.

"Alba Abernathy Tercera, ha pasado demasiado tiempo". Henry sonrió encantadoramente mientras abrazaba a la anciana.

"Sí Sí. Entra. Empecemos. afirmó inquietantemente, de alguna manera ya consciente de la situación.

"¡Afuera!"

"¡AFUERA!"

“¡FUERA FUERA FUERA!” chilló el rostro que sobresalía del centro de la espalda de Alba, presionado contra la tela de su camisa.

"Ignórala, ella no debe recordarte". Alba se disculpó.

Henry asintió y entró en la oscura sala de estar, que estaba rodeada de una sustancia roja, presumiblemente sangre. Dentro del ring había una señal de alto y un semáforo.

“Este ritual detendrá a quien quieras detener. Téngalos en cuenta al comenzar. Por favor… entra en el círculo”.

Henry recordó un fracaso en la localización de Bianca muchos años antes. “¿Estás seguro de que esto…”

“Sabes que esto es diferente. Esto funcionará”. Le aseguró Alba.

"¡Dejar! ¡DEJAR!" gritó la otra cara de Alba. Alba sacudió la cabeza y levantó un libro, comenzando a recitar las extrañas palabras en la página.

La habitación rápidamente comenzó a oscurecerse. Henry solo podía verse a sí mismo, los objetos en el círculo con él y el velocista que buscaba llevar ante la justicia. Su visión también comenzó a desvanecerse y sintió el peor dolor que jamás había sentido antes de perder el conocimiento.

El guardia de cruce se levantó del suelo, pero ya no estaba en la casa de Alba. Parecía que su ritual era otro fracaso. No había ningún velocista y Henry Stubbins se encontró en su cruce de peatones habitual. Todos los niños a su alrededor, los coches, los pájaros, el aire mismo… se detuvieron.

Algo se sintió diferente. Por extraño que fuera el mundo detenido, más extraño aún era su cuerpo. El cofre de Henry fue reemplazado por el símbolo del que necesitaba el poder, una señal de alto. En sus brazos había luces rojas, verdes y amarillas. Era obvio que el ritual funcionó , pero no como se esperaba. Henry Stubbins ya no existía. Para garantizar la seguridad de todos los cruces de peatones, se convirtió en HardStop.

HardStop concentró toda su energía en la luz de su brazo, tratando de cambiarla de rojo a verde. La luz no se encendía y nada excepto él mismo se movía. La realidad de un mundo helado se impuso y el nuevo héroe se dio cuenta de que el velocista tendría que esperar.

After parting ways with Daddy Chill, HardStop flew around the city, trying to catch any trace of the Dupe they had been chasing together. It moved too far out of sight for his effective stopping radius and when they were interrupted by EmBark, they lost it altogether. HardStop cataloged the image of it; when it passed by, it appeared to be a disco cube, he recalled, not knowing exactly what he meant by it. He returned to civilian life in the morning, wearing a long sleeve, tight fitting shirt that barely hid his stoplights and stop sign.

Kids in Henry’s crosswalk were talking about some appearance that Wumpus had on TV. She certainly had a way of holding the spotlight. Henry listened in on what they were saying out of curiosity.

“I’d wanna be Wumpus over any of the other heroes!!”

“Even HardStop???”

“HardStop’s ooooold. I don’t even think Wumpus ages!”

“WHOAAAAAA.” all the children were enamored with the purple monster.

Henry was a proud man, and hearing them pick a hero he knew personally as a legit psycho over him didn’t hurt his feelings. Calling him old did. It wasn’t because it was true - it wasn’t. HardStop’s powers prevented his cells from aging. He would forever be a 39 year old man, celebrating a lonely 40th birthday year after year. Why it hurt was that he knew himself to be a failure. Despite becoming a world-famous hero, saving many lives and even the world multiple times, HardStop’s original mission hadn’t progressed at all.

Henry felt deep in his core that the speedster that once threatened innocent walk-crossers still roamed the Earth, putting in danger anyone who wished to cross a walk. He thought of his daughter, Bianca, as well and how he wanted to bring in his mysterious nemesis in her honor. As the crossing guard shift ended, Henry found a replacement for himself and dedicated himself to the hunt.

At the library, Henry had five computers running searches for reports of recent speedsters. A librarian walked over after people complained all the computers were taken.

“You know, you can do that quicker on your phone.” the sarcastic young man said, his nametag read ‘Trevor’.

“You think it would be faster for me to call people than it would be to use your computers?” Henry raised an eyebrow.

The young man sighed. “You don’t have to call anyone. Everything you’re doing on the computer can be done on your phone.”

“Show me.”

Trevor took the phone and copied Henry’s search into the search engine. “Look.”

Henry grinned as he read through a slew of reports just north of Big City. “How would you like to be a sidekick, Trevor?”

“I work here at the library.”

“Good to know. Be ready when I call on you.” Henry hurried out of the building and stopped time outside so he could change into HardStop. Flying over the city, he heard screeching tires directly below.

HardStop paused all motion at the noisy intersection, which fell silent in his time halt. He hurried to relocate any of the cars that were near smashing into each other, lifting them with ease and dropping them gently. One of the drivers had run a red light and was visibly inebriated, so HardStop slapped him a couple times and left him on the hood of his car with his arms and legs hogtied with his own shirt to await the police. He allowed time to flow again and watched angry people scold the drunkard.

Above the city once again, HardStop heard sirens in the direction he headed. He descended near the procession of first responders and saw ahead of them a streak of light in the street. It moved back and forth in a small area. A cop car moved too close and was crashed into by the insane motion. The streak was unaffected, but the car was tossed with great force. HardStop knew it to be his speedster. He took a moment to freeze the cop car and bring it to the ground safely.

HardStop looked to his nemesis who was having some sort of crisis, digging itself into the ground as it ran back and forth in the middle of the street. He realized everything around him was frozen, except the speedster. It didn’t slow at all. HardStop took off his glasses and stared in awe as he realized he gained all this power just to still be powerless. He began to panic, feeling as though all the good he did was pointless if he couldn’t stop his only nemesis. His frustration and anger brightened the light on his arm. It glowed a red he’d never seen before, sharper as well.

The world around HardStop gained a certain pixelated quality, as if he’d not just frozen the matter around him, but the inner workings of reality as well. He looked at his hands and they had the same quality as well. To his chagrin, the speedster still moved. HardStop was relieved that it was not at full speed, but it was still quick. He saw the person in the streak of light. It was a woman in a mask whose face bore distress. As the light on his arm faded, as if unable to maintain such a hold, the speedster mouthed something to HardStop, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“HELP.”

Time resumed normally and HardStop stayed flying there, confused. The military surrounding the speedster deployed a mobile facility around it, which dug into the ground and expanded a floor below. It worked perfectly. Within a metal cage, the speedster bounced from wall to wall and was hauled away by helicopter. HardStop took a moment and then left the scene, now unsure of his only mission.

The clock struck midnight when HardStop finally returned to the library. He had research to do. Who was the speedster? Why did she need help? How could he help if he wanted to? In the library parking lot, hidden between two cars, Trevor emerged.

“You waited here?” HardStop asked.

“You told me to be ready.”

“That’s very odd… but it’s good that you’re here. We have work to do.” HardStop raised an eyebrow. “Wait, how did you know it was me?”

“You wore those exact glasses earlier… You’re like 7 feet tall… You have stop lights on your arm and a stop sign torso… What do you mean?”

“Perceptive. That’s a good sign.” HardStop handed him his phone to get to work. “Maybe you’ll be a good fit.”