"Mr. Snart," Gideon continued in that infuriatingly calm tone that could drive anyone insane,
"Miss Queen currently possesses most of the Time Marauder's clearance authority. Her energy level is higher than yours. When both of you exist within the same timeline, her presence automatically overwrites parts of your past."
Captain Cold froze.
Then realization hit him like a lightning bolt.
Bits of memory—half-formed and slippery—started to unravel in his mind.
You've got to be kidding me.
She'd been on this ship for hours, and the A.I. hadn't said a word.
Now it decides to mention this?
If Thea could have heard his thoughts, she would've given him a sympathetic handshake.
Welcome to the club, buddy. Gideon screws everyone equally.
Sara Lance finally spoke up, pointing toward Thea. "She's been in contact with me the most. So… my future still exists, right?"
Gideon paused for a few seconds, its internal processors humming audibly.
"If Miss Queen maintains her original timeline—specifically, if she shoots you dead in 2015—then your history will remain stable."
Sara's expression went blank.
So… her survival depended on Thea killing her?
Fantastic.
Even by Gotham standards, that was some world-class irony.
Thea, meanwhile, nearly choked. She'd forgotten that little detail. In the original events, she'd been the one who accidentally killed Sara—though back then, Malcolm Merlyn had taken the blame, and Oliver had buried the truth. Now, however, Malcolm was off doing God knows what, which meant there was no one left to take the fall.
And technically, she realized, it hasn't even happened yet in my timeline!
Time travel headaches aside, she had no choice but to act innocent.
Her expression morphed into one of perfect confusion and moral conflict—the "I'm totally a clueless, good-hearted girl" look she'd been honing to professional levels. To make sure she sold it, she even layered a subtle suggestion spell over herself.
Luckily, the Waverider crew were fighters, not actors. None of them had the emotional radar to see through her performance. Even Gideon, calculating monster that it was, still lacked true human empathy. So the act passed.
Most of them just stared at her with a mix of discomfort and awkward fascination.
So this was the mysterious killer who'd once ended Sara Lance's life?
It didn't fit at all.
And since Sara herself didn't seem angry, no one else dared to pry.
Rip Hunter, who could sense the timeline creaking from all this gossip, decided enough was enough.
"All right, that's quite enough questions. We need to prepare for our mission. Since Miss Queen is joining us, I'll brief her on our target."
In truth, his "briefing" was shockingly simple—borderline suicidal, even.
Here was their entire plan:
They would fly the Waverider directly into Vandal Savage's backyard, storm his base at lightning speed, overwhelm him with brute force, and drag him back before he knew what hit him.
No recon.
No contingency plans.
No tactical backup.
Just one glorified bum rush.
Thea sat there, silently judging them all.
Seriously? This is the great Legends of Tomorrow? You people have time travel at your disposal and still can't strategize better than a bar fight?
Sure, they'd win eventually—she vaguely remembered that much from the timeline—but the sheer stupidity of it hurt her soul. Still, she kept quiet. This wasn't Gotham, and unlike there, she didn't hold the overwhelming upper hand here. Best to play along, keep her head down, and—most importantly—find out where the damn Horus Scepter was.
"Everyone, strap in. Gideon, set coordinates: London, 2166," Rip ordered.
He didn't even wait for approval. Just like that, the "discussion" was over.
Thea could only sigh.
No teamwork, no hierarchy, no plan. You guys are hopeless.
Fine. She'd just tag along, pretend to help, and bail once she got what she wanted.
She couldn't help glancing toward the control console, where Gideon's hologram glowed smugly. Ever since mentioning the Horus artifacts, the A.I. had gone completely silent about them—clearly waiting for her to earn her keep first.
You manipulative bucket of code.
With a resigned breath, Thea buckled herself into one of the passenger seats.
Rip stood tall at the front of the cabin, trying to sound heroic. "All right, everyone—prepare for temporal transit!"
No one responded. Everyone just closed their eyes and braced themselves. Even Stein, who'd been through this a dozen times, was already sweating.
Thea smirked. Lightweights.
She'd survived magic rituals, demonic possession, and near-death in Nanda Parbat. How bad could a little time jump be?
Then the ship plunged into the timestream—
—and she instantly regretted her arrogance.
It was indescribable.
Every cell in her body began to expand. Not just pressure or nausea—this was something deeper, like her very atoms were being stretched across eternity.
What the hell—?!
She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay conscious. Out of the corner of her eye, the others looked mildly uncomfortable—but nothing like what she was feeling.
Why only her?
Stein turned his head, his glasses slipping down his nose. His eyes widened in shock. "You—your body—what's happening to you?"
Before Thea could answer, the Waverider slammed through a shimmering barrier of light.
Rip's voice cut through the chaos:
"We've arrived—London, 2166. This is the final battle. We—Oh my God!"
He never finished the sentence.
A blinding surge erupted from Thea's core—pure, searing energy flooding every vein, every bone, every fiber of her being.
White light consumed her vision.
Her consciousness shattered like glass.
And as the Waverider emerged into the war-torn skies of 2166, Thea Queen's body went limp—her entire form glowing like a newborn star before she finally collapsed into darkness.