At the edge of Starling City's East Port, just outside a rusted, long-abandoned factory, two armed groups stood tensely face to face.
Frank Bertinelli and Anthony Venza were supposedly here to "negotiate" a partnership, but the loaded weapons and snarling stares told another story. Behind both men, their goons exchanged threatening glares, tossing out lines like: "You got a problem?" and "Try me." It was less a business meeting and more a powder keg with a ticking clock.
Inside a black SUV parked behind Frank's men, Jack Kadere sat bored in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers against the armrest.
"How long has it been now?" he asked, annoyed.
Helena Bertinelli, sitting beside him, glanced at her phone. "Maybe twenty minutes?"
"Twenty minutes and no one's fired a single shot?" Jack groaned. "Since when did gangland turf wars get so polite?"
Helena smirked. "Frank didn't plan for you to show up with me in tow. He couldn't exactly say no to you—and he sure didn't want his guys seeing me like this. So now he's stuck. Originally, he was going to use you as muscle against Venza. But with you staying back here, he's stalling. He doesn't have the guts to go all in without knowing you're behind him."
Jack scoffed. "I'm not interested in watching a bunch of suits bark at each other."
With that, he pushed open the car door and stepped out, tugging gently on the leash in his hand—Helena's leash. She followed, quiet and obedient.
As they crossed the lot, the tense standoff began to shift. The crowd on both sides instinctively stepped aside. Frank turned, heard the footsteps, and felt dread drop into his gut.
"Is that... your daughter?" Anthony Venza's eyes widened before erupting into laughter.
"Hahahahaha!"
"Well, now I get it," Venza sneered. "This is why you suddenly decided to grow a backbone? You found yourself a pet lightning rod and handed over your daughter like some trophy mutt? You think this joker's going to scare me off?"
The mockery rippled through his men. Frank's face burned red with fury. His hand hovered near his gun, trembling with rage—but before he could act, a quiet growl cut through the tension.
"Too noisy," Jack said flatly.
He released Helena's leash.
Suddenly, electricity exploded around him.
Crackling arcs of pure lightning burst forth, dancing across Jack's body like living snakes of energy.
Infinite Stacking: Hundredfold.
Ten Million Volts.
A searing column of blue-white light surged upward from Jack's body, shattering the sky with a thunderclap. He pointed a single glowing hand to the clouds—and the heavens roared in response.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
All laughter died. No one moved. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Raindrops started to fall—soft at first, then thick and fast, like the sky itself had stopped to cry.
The mobsters watched in stunned awe as lightning licked the sky above. Their jeers were gone—replaced by a primal, collective fear.
Jack's voice was calm. "Fall."
He pointed toward the old factory behind Venza's crew.
BOOM!
A colossal bolt of lightning struck the building.
Its roof imploded instantly. Seconds later, a thunderous explosion ripped through the structure. Flames erupted skyward, black smoke curling like writhing serpents into the rain.
The shockwave was brutal. Fire and electric current surged outward in a deadly spiral. Men screamed. Some collapsed twitching, others foamed at the mouth. A few unlucky ones were instantly electrocuted.
Looking around, everyone—whether they belonged to Anthony Venza or Frank—lay sprawled on the ground. The lucky ones twitched and foamed at the mouth, while the unlucky were already still, their bodies scorched from the unleashed current.
Only Jack Kadere stood firm, crackling with residual energy, like a lone thunder god in the aftermath of a storm.
"...I might've gone a bit overboard," Jack muttered. He turned toward Frank, who was half-conscious on the wet asphalt. "You alive? If you are, get up and finish your business."
Frank flinched and instinctively shook his head, dazed. A beat later, he realized Jack hadn't fried him—he was still on his side.
With trembling effort, Frank climbed to his feet and limped toward Anthony Venza, who lay paralyzed with fear, struggling to move as if his body had forgotten how. Frank pointed his gun down at him, his voice steadier than his legs.
"Giving up your pride isn't a crime. Giving it up for too little—that's the real disgrace."
Bang.
The shot rang out cold and final. Anthony Venza collapsed, eyes still wide in disbelief.
Frank stood there, triumphant for a fleeting second, but the moment he turned to look at the flattened factory behind him—the flames, the smoldering debris, the cratered asphalt—his bravado drained like water through cracked glass. Words caught in his throat.
Jack didn't wait to hear a speech.
He grabbed Helena's hand and led her away without another glance at the carnage. Groans of the half-conscious men echoed in the distance as they slipped into the car and pulled away from the East Port.
Inside the vehicle, Helena sat quietly, watching him. After a moment, she asked softly, "Was that... your strongest power?"
Jack chuckled, a low, almost amused sound. "Strongest? Nah. If I used my full strength, I'd probably crack the planet."
Theoretically, with Infinite Stacking, even a casual jab from Jack could obliterate the Earth.
Back at the docks, chaos soon erupted. Sirens wailed as police cruisers and fire engines descended on the scene. Frank had just finished disposing of Venza's body when he was swarmed by officers demanding answers.
He gave them a surprisingly honest account—except for two details: Jack's lightning strike and the fact that he pulled the trigger on Venza.
Would the police believe him?
Who could say?
Without evidence, and with a story that sounded like a comic book plot, the truth was easy to bury.
After all, who'd believe someone could summon lightning from the sky… unless they saw it themselves?