[Starling City, East Port Industrial District — Night]
Two groups faced each other in front of a derelict factory, guns drawn. The negotiations between Frank and Anthony Vensa had soured quickly, and the men behind them had already begun exchanging glares and muttered threats.
"How long has it been?"
In a commercial van parked behind Frank's convoy, Jack Kadere shifted impatiently.
Helena considered. "Twenty minutes, maybe."
"Twenty minutes and nobody's shooting yet? Are gang standoffs always this polite?" Jack drummed his fingers against the armrest.
Helena's lip curled. "He couldn't refuse when you insisted on bringing me. But he didn't want anyone to see it either. His whole plan to use you against Anthony had to change on the spot." She tilted her head toward the stalemate outside. "Without you stepping in, he doesn't have the confidence to finish this. That's why they're still talking."
"I'm not interested in waiting." Jack pushed open the door, grabbed Helena's leash, and walked toward the crowd.
The men parted for him. Frank heard footsteps behind him, and his stomach dropped.
"Is that your daughter?"
Anthony Vensa's laughter rang out across the concrete. "Frank! Is this why you suddenly grew a spine? You needed help so badly you gave your own daughter to some stranger like a dog?" His gaze swept over Jack dismissively. "What's one man going to do? Hahaha—"
His crew joined in, howling with laughter.
Frank's face went dark. He raised his pistol, ready to end Anthony where he stood—
A low hum cut through the noise.
"Talk much?"
Jack released Helena's leash. His brow furrowed slightly.
Light exploded across his body.
Electric current crackled over his skin, snapping and writhing like living things. The air itself seemed to vibrate.
Infinite Superposition. Hundredfold.
Ten million volts.
Azure brilliance swallowed everything. Jack raised one finger toward the sky, and the current roared upward in a single blinding pillar, punching into the clouds overhead.
Silence.
The men who had been laughing froze mid-breath, staring at the figure wreathed in lightning. Nobody moved. Nobody blinked.
Then the first raindrop struck the pavement. Then another. The shocked men stirred, looked up, looked back at Jack—and terror flooded their faces.
"Fall."
Jack pointed at the factory behind Anthony.
Thunder answered.
A column of white-blue fire descended from the sky and slammed through the factory roof. The building shuddered. A heartbeat later, the first explosion ripped through the interior, then another, then a chain of them rolling outward like dominoes.
He called that down, Frank thought numbly. He called it down like—
Flames erupted through every window. The shockwave—heat and pressure and crackling ozone—blasted outward across the lot, flattening everyone in its path.
The rain tapered off. The thunder faded. Where the factory had stood, only burning rubble remained, smoke coiling into the night sky.
Frank pushed himself up on shaking arms. All around him, men lay sprawled across the wet concrete. Some twitched and foamed at the mouth. Others didn't move at all—skin blackened, eyes staring at nothing.
Only Jack stood upright, perfectly still, as if nothing had happened.
"Seems like I overdid it." He glanced at the wreckage without much interest. "You dead or not? If you're alive, get up. We have business to finish."
Frank shook his head reflexively—then realized Jack was on his side. He forced himself to his feet and limped toward Anthony Vensa.
Anthony was still conscious, dragging himself across the ground, legs refusing to obey. His eyes were wild with panic.
Frank raised his gun. The humiliation from moments ago burned in his chest, but now it felt distant—small compared to what he'd just witnessed.
"Selling your dignity isn't shameful," Frank said, savoring every word. "What's shameful is failing to sell it for a good price."
He gestured at the smoking crater behind him.
"This is what one man can accomplish."
The shot echoed across the empty lot. Anthony slumped forward and didn't move again.
Frank opened his mouth to say something more—some final word to cap his victory—but his gaze drifted to the obliterated factory, and the words died in his throat.
Jack had already turned away. He pulled Helena along by her leash, stepping over groaning bodies without a downward glance.
They reached the van. Jack slid behind the wheel and pulled out of the lot, tires crunching over debris.
Helena watched him from the passenger seat. "Is that your strongest?"
"Strongest?" Jack laughed softly. "No. If I used that, I'd destroy the Earth."
Infinite Superposition had no ceiling. Stack it high enough, and a flick of his finger could crack the planet in half.
Helena said nothing. She turned to look out the window at the receding glow of the fire.
Behind them, the East Port descended into chaos.
Police cars and fire trucks converged on the scene within minutes. Frank stood amid the wreckage, soot on his face, rehearsing his story. He told them everything—the standoff, the explosion, the bodies—and left out only two details: that Jack Kadere had called down the lightning, and that he himself had put a bullet in Anthony Vensa's skull.
Whether the police believed him didn't matter.
There was no evidence. And who would accept something as impossible as a man summoning thunder from a clear sky?
Not unless they'd seen it themselves.