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The police didn't believe what they heard at first.
A thunderclap in such clear skies, no storm in sight, and no signs of explosives or strange devices.
Yet, with no solid evidence to explain the phenomenon and with Anthony Venza's body mysteriously never found, there wasn't much the authorities could do.
Their hands were tied.
More crucially, Anthony's younger brother unexpectedly backed up Frank's version of events, swearing that what happened was just nature's wrath.
With no body, no witnesses willing to speak otherwise and a statement like that, the case was quietly and reluctantly closed.
It was officially declared a natural event, an act of God, they said.
Of course, not everyone believed it.
In fact, most people didn't, especially those in the shadows.
It wasn't like Allen had suddenly become invisible.
There were still lingering suspicions, especially from A.R.G.U.S.
Though they had gone silent since their last encounter with him, their eyes had never truly turned away.
Perhaps it was Laurel's presence that caused them to hesitate.
Despite their earlier hostility, they noticed something: Allen had never once mistreated Laurel.
In fact, he'd done quite the opposite.
Everything she had now, the suit she wore during her training, the resources at her disposal, came from Allen.
Her current uniform bore the subtle branding of Wayne Enterprises, custom-made and resilient.
And although she hadn't used it yet, her sonic device was built and calibrated by STAR Labs in Central City.
It was Cutting-edge tech, quietly handed over.
None of it had been acquired through clean channels.
But it didn't matter.
All of it had been arranged with meticulous care by Allen, for Laurel.
He even pulled in one of Gotham's most infamous figures, Catwoman herself.
The elusive jewel thief had taken on the role of mentor, sharpening Laurel's close-combat capabilities.
If they didn't understand how important Laurel was to Allen by now, then even her mother, Dinah Lance, wouldn't be able to convince them.
That's why, after the East Port incident, the organization didn't make any rash moves.
Instead, they pivoted.
Direct confrontation was off the table.
Observation, patience, and strategy took its place.
And they weren't the only ones affected by the recent events.
Helena had managed to record footage of Frank firing the fatal shot at Anthony Venza.
But it wasn't enough.
A single act in isolation wouldn't hold in court, not against someone like Frank with his resources and reputation.
So, she kept going.
Playing her part and digging deeper.
Sometimes, even Allen couldn't tell if Helena's emotions were real or part of the game.
She blurred the line so well that it almost became a talent in itself.
But the effect was undeniable.
When Frank returned again, asking Allen for help, no one so much as raised an eyebrow at Helena's presence.
She was part of the background now, simply accepted.
A perfect cover for someone quietly gathering evidence behind the scenes.
Every time Frank asked for assistance; Allen diverted the money with casual precision.
Extra money? All went to help Felicity.
The villa they bought was secluded, secure, and equipped.
It wasn't just a luxury, it was preparation.
A tactical hub for future operations.
With Black Canary on the horizon, a proper base was necessary.
After all, what kind of superhero team doesn't have a headquarters?
Following the move, upgrades began subtly.
Beneath the cozy domestic façade, a command center gradually formed in the basement.
It had multiple monitors, encrypted networks, and biometric locks.
It was a control room masked behind everyday comfort.
In the master bedroom, warm light glowed from the lamps.
Felicity wiped the sweat from her forehead, having just finished configuring several core systems.
She looked over at Allen, already lying in bed, looking unbothered and casual.
"The base is up and running," she said with a soft smile.
"When are you going to officially introduce me to Laurel?"
"Tonight," Allen replied, stretching lazily.
"I'll bring her here in a bit."
Felicity gave a small nod, then crawled into bed and leaned into his arms.
"By the way, what did you ask me to delete just now?"
"Something that'll break someone's spirit," Allen replied with a faint smirk.
With Allen's assistance, Helena had finally compiled enough evidence to put Frank away for life.
She was right on the edge of success, teetering on the brink of justice.
And then Allen had Felicity delete all of it.
Completely.
'You thought I didn't know?' Allen mused silently.
'You wanted to use me, to gather evidence, to manipulate me into your scheme, hoping I'd stay neutral?'
'Now feel despair... after tasting hope.'
He was genuinely looking forward to Helena's reaction when she realized it was all gone.
All her work, her plans, were reduced to digital ash.
Would she collapse?
Or would she grit her teeth, refuse to be broken, and emerge even stronger?
Allen didn't know.
But he looked forward to finding out.
With his detached mindset, his transcendent view of the world, and a strength few could understand, Allen found immense satisfaction in these moments.
The uncertainty, the rawness, it was all fascinating to him.
Whether the result was redemption or ruin, the process was entertainment.
And as for what anyone else thought?
Allen didn't care in the slightest.
He was a transmigrator.
Someone who had crossed from one world into this one.
He understood the grander structure behind the curtain, held knowledge beyond comprehension, and wielded power that broke conventional limits.
So why should he be shackled by the morals and judgments of others?
What would be the point of crossing worlds otherwise?
After resting for a while...
Allen showered with Felicity, both of them sharing quiet moments beneath the warm spray.
He then got dressed and headed out.
Time to pick up Laurel.
As his car pulled smoothly away from the villa, the woods nearby stirred with motion.
A figure in a sleek black leather uniform emerged, sharp-eyed, wearing hawk-like armor that shimmered faintly under the moonlight.
"The target has left the villa. Ready to move," she whispered into a communicator.
"Roger that. Converging now," came the crisp reply through her earpiece.
With a flex of her shoulders, a massive pair of feathered wings unfurled from her back.
She launched into the night sky, gliding with precision, chasing after Allen's vehicle from above.
Suddenly, Bang!
A tire burst with a sharp pop on the otherwise quiet road.
Allen's gaze sharpened as shadows moved ahead of him.
Figures stepped into view, one by one, each one more recognizable than the last.
Captain Cold, Leonard Snart, cold gun in hand.
Heatwave, Mick Rory, already lighting up his flamethrower.
The Atom, Ray Palmer, tech suit gleaming.
White Canary, Sara Lance, spinning her batons.
Firestorm, glowing with nuclear energy.
Hawkman, Carter Hall, wings poised for battle.
And finally... the original Time Master himself, Rip Hunter.
Allen's eyes narrowed in disbelief.
'This... this is the original lineup of the Legends of Tomorrow. The full founding team.'
"But Laurel hasn't even become Black Canary yet. Why are they here?" Allen muttered, stepping out of the car, genuinely puzzled.
Then came a rush of wind.
Hawkgirl, Kendra Saunders, descended from above, landing beside the group with grace.
No doubt about it now. The full team had assembled.
The Legends of Tomorrow... had arrived.