Absolute Flash #4: An Iron Home

Absolute Flash #4 surprised me with just how patient and full of substance it is—the first issue in the series so far that truly takes a moment to sit down and justify the conceptual makeup of this alternate-universe take on the Flash mythos. With a strong focus on establishing a new kind of status quo for Wally, the book’s theming evolves in tandem with its expanding scope. What began as a surface-level exploration of teenage anxiety now blossoms into a promising new story engine with genuine dramatic weight.

Having a runaway Flash forced to settle into a youth shelter is a decisive, pace-breaking move for a series that’s been running at full throttle until now—but it’s a necessary one. While previous issues gave us a solid idea of Wally’s character, this slower chapter allows him space to interact with others—peers and adults alike—which in turn deepens the emotional bond between him and the reader. It’s character development rooted in small, human moments rather than spectacle, and it works. The opening sequence in the graveyard is major proof of this. Lemire has started writing the character as a real human being in need of mourning, but unable to achieve it on their own terms.

The reintroduction of classic Wally West characters, like Linda or Ralph Dibney, is handled with real intentionality. Whether it’s through brand-new dynamics or refreshing spins on familiar ones, their inclusion finally delivers on the promise that Absolute Flash would offer more than just aesthetic divergence from the core continuity—it’s building a world with its own emotional touchstones. And by tying it all together with a slowly emerging central threat—one that seems rrto echo through both Wally and his father’s narrative arcs—the book begins to cohere in a really satisfying way. No longer is it without direction, running full speed towards a story rich not just in vibe, but in plotting as well.

A.L. Kaplan may not be the flashiest artist, but their sense of visual pacing is incredibly sharp. The beats between panels move with the clipped veracity of a 2000s character drama—never too slow, never too crowded. And the coloring team continues to pull their weight, maintaining tonal consistency across different narrative moods. There’s a creeping sense of horror beginning to drift in as well, a tonal shift that feels less like a hard turn and more like an ambient reconciliation of the conceptual horror beyond many of the characters villains. This approach could be the book’s biggest asset.