2016 had been a shit year. Black Siren spent the majority of it either fighting for Zoom under the threat of death or in this tiny little cell where she hardly ever saw another living soul. On the rare occasion she did, it was always that Cisco kid or the somehow-infinitely-more-insufferable Barry Allen of this Earth. Then she heard footsteps coming her way.

"I've spent a good six months in this glorified room-sized pillow you call a cell, you gonna let me the hell out or what, Allen?"

But the guy standing before him wasn't Barry or Cisco or even anyone with whom she was familiar. Sure, she saw his doppelganger on the television frequently before the particle accelerator explosion, but this guy had a different pallor about him.

"Who the shit are you, Happy Gilmore?"

"You can call me HR. I wanted to talk."

"You want to talk to me? It's not like you can even hear me anyway."

"I've picked up lip-reading."

This guy was something else.

"What do you wanna talk about?"

"You. Why you're like this when the Laurel on this Earth was such 'a pure ray of sunshine' as Cisco so eloquently called her."

"You gonna let me out?"

"You gonna kill me?"

"Jury's still out on that one."

Then the door opened and HR sat his happy ass down on a chair he had pulled up.

"I imagine this will be a long and fascinating story. I've got time. Start at the beginning."

Siren sat down on the floor opposite HR and settled in for a long conversation.