## Snart's Current Base - 11:47 PM
The abandoned textile factory smelled like disappointment, rat droppings, and the particular brand of industrial decay that came from leaving expensive machinery to rust for twenty years. Leonard Snart didn't mind. He'd conducted business in worse places, and at least this particular shithole had reliable electricity and internet connectivity that he'd illegally tapped from the city grid three months ago.
He sat in what used to be a factory floor supervisor's office, surrounded by enough holographic displays to make Tony Stark jealous, watching footage from tonight's operation for the fourth time. Each replay revealed new details—tactical patterns, response times, the exact moment when his carefully planned operation had gone from "sophisticated heist" to "getting our asses kicked by people who could fly."
Mick Rory stood beside him, arms crossed, eating beef jerky from a bag he'd produced from somewhere in his jacket. The man had the remarkable ability to find snacks in any situation, which Leonard privately appreciated even if he'd never admit it out loud.
"So," Mick said around a mouthful of processed meat, "we didn't get the cargo. We lost three good people to arrests—well, 'good' is generous, Tony was kind of an idiot—and we exposed capabilities we might have wanted to keep secret for future operations. Also, I think I pulled something in my back during the retreat, and I'm pretty sure my health insurance doesn't cover 'injuries sustained while fleeing from flying heroes.'"
"All true," Leonard agreed without looking away from the displays. "And yet, I consider tonight an overwhelming success."
Mick stopped chewing. "You consider getting our asses handed to us by flying heroes a success? Boss, I think maybe you hit your head harder than I thought during the retreat. Should I be worried about a concussion? Do you know what year it is? Who's the president?"
"I'm not concussed, Mick."
"Because that's exactly what someone with a concussion would say." Mick resumed chewing thoughtfully. "Next you're going to tell me tonight was all part of your master plan and losing eight hundred grand was actually a brilliant strategic move."
"It was, actually."
"See, that right there? That's concerning. That's the kind of statement that makes me think maybe we should get you an MRI."
Leonard finally looked up, his expression carrying the satisfied focus of someone who'd gotten exactly what they wanted from an operation—along with a hint of amusement at Mick's genuine concern. "Mick, what did we learn tonight?"
"That the heroes are faster and more coordinated than we expected? That experimental cryogenic weapons work exactly once before the targets figure out how to avoid them? That I should have worn more comfortable shoes for extended running?"
"More than that." Leonard pulled up specific footage sequences, arranging them in chronological order with the kind of obsessive attention to detail that explained why he'd never been caught despite two decades of sophisticated criminal operations. "We learned that Central City's hero community consists of at least three active enhanced individuals—the Flash, Karna, and someone new with wings and ancient weaponry who is either really committed to a theme or genuinely from Egyptian mythology."
He zoomed in on footage of Kendra engaging his crew at the convoy. The image quality was surprisingly good for cameras that had been hidden in traffic signals. "This one is interesting. Combat training that suggests either military background, extensive martial arts education, or—and I'm just spitballing here—literal centuries of combat experience from previous reincarnations. The Egyptian aesthetic isn't subtle. She's either going for intimidation through mythological imagery or she's actually a reincarnated Egyptian princess, and given the week we've had, I'm not ruling out the latter."
"So we've got Egyptian mythology and Indian mythology both active in Central City now," Mick observed, abandoning his beef jerky to study the footage more carefully. "That's either a weird coincidence, someone's collecting enhanced individuals with specific thematic connections, or the universe has decided Central City is where mythological beings go to fight crime. Maybe we should check if Thor's moving in next door."
"That's what I'm wondering." Leonard pulled up different footage—this time showing Barry's speed evacuation of hostages from the mall. The speedster was visible only as red and yellow blur across multiple camera angles, moving so fast that even advanced surveillance systems could barely track him. "The Flash evacuated fifty people in approximately fifteen seconds. That's faster than my previous calculations suggested. He's either improved his capabilities significantly, or he was holding back during his earlier operations so he didn't reveal his full potential."
"Why would he hold back?"
"Same reason I held back tonight—to avoid revealing full capabilities until absolutely necessary." Leonard's smile was cold, appreciative. "Which means we're both playing the same game. Testing, probing, gathering intelligence while minimizing exposure of our actual resources. The Flash is smarter than I initially gave him credit for. That's either very good news because it means he's predictable, or very bad news because it means he's learning."
"I'm gonna go with bad news," Mick said. "Smart opponents are always bad news. Dumb opponents are easy. Smart opponents make you work for your wins, and frankly, I'm tired already."
Leonard shifted to footage of Karna engaging the weapons platform. The golden armor was striking even through surveillance cameras, and the precision with which those energy constructs had disabled sophisticated military equipment was genuinely impressive. "And this one—Karna—his energy constructs are more sophisticated than public footage suggested. Look at the precision here."
He zoomed in on the moment where golden light flowed into the platform's weapon ports, freezing the playback at the exact instant when the energy made contact with internal mechanisms. "He's not just creating shapes. He's designing complex tools that interact with mechanical systems at microscopic levels. That suggests either advanced engineering knowledge, divine armor with built-in technical specifications, or he's been watching way too much MacGyver and decided to apply those lessons to superhero work."
"So what did tonight's very expensive intelligence gathering actually tell us?" Mick asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer but wanted confirmation he wasn't following a crazy person.
Leonard began compiling his observations into organized files, his fingers moving across holographic interfaces with practiced efficiency. "It told us that the heroes prioritize civilian safety over property protection—predictable but confirmed. It told us they have coordinated communication systems sophisticated enough to manage multiple simultaneous operations without apparent difficulty. It told us they have backup capabilities we hadn't accounted for—specifically that new flyer with the combat training who can apparently take a hit from a cold gun and keep fighting, which is both impressive and terrifying."
He pulled up analysis of the coordination patterns, overlaying communication intercepts with movement tracking data. "But more importantly, it told us their weaknesses. They're reactive rather than proactive. They respond to crises but they don't anticipate them. They coordinate well under pressure but they don't have contingencies for when operations diverge from expected patterns. They're young, idealistic, and they trust each other completely—which is beautiful from a friendship perspective and catastrophically exploitable from a tactical perspective."
"And the cold gun?" Mick asked, genuine curiosity cutting through his sarcasm. "The weapon that you spent six months and God knows how much money developing?"
"The cold gun worked exactly as advertised." Leonard pulled up footage of the weapon hitting Kendra's wing, playing it in slow motion so they could see the flash-freezing spread across golden feathers in crystalline patterns. "Flash-freezing on contact, sufficient structural damage to compromise flight capabilities, effective range of approximately forty meters. If I'd been willing to risk lethal force, that shot could have killed her. But that wasn't the goal tonight, and frankly, killing Egyptian warrior goddesses seems like the kind of thing that would bring down more heat than I'm currently prepared to handle."
"The goal was data gathering."
"The goal was comprehensive intelligence about Central City's hero community, their capabilities, their coordination, their response patterns, and their limitations." Leonard stood, moving to a wall-sized display that showed his compiled analysis in enough detail to make a military strategist weep with envy. "And in that regard, tonight was spectacularly successful. We now know more about these heroes than anyone except possibly their immediate support team."
He pulled up financial data, because Leonard Snart tracked expenses the way most people tracked their favorite sports teams. "We spent approximately $800,000 on tonight's operation—hiring crew, equipment, planning, contingencies, bribes to ensure the arrested team members keep their mouths shut. We lost three team members to arrests, though they've been instructed to remain silent and will be compensated according to our agreements, assuming they don't immediately flip on us to reduce their sentences. We failed to acquire the cargo, which would have been worth $40 million in the right markets."
"Sounds like a terrible return on investment," Mick said dryly. "Almost like we should have just bought stocks or invested in cryptocurrency like normal criminals trying to launder money."
"Except we now have comprehensive intelligence worth significantly more than $40 million to anyone who knows how to use it properly." Leonard began listing items with the enthusiasm of someone presenting a particularly successful shopping trip. "We know the Flash's evacuation speeds, Karna's construct sophistication, the new flyer's combat capabilities and vulnerabilities. We know they coordinate through communication systems vulnerable to jamming if we develop the right countermeasures. We know they prioritize civilian safety over strategic objectives, which means hostage situations will always draw them away from actual targets. We know they have backup from established heroes like Supergirl but they don't coordinate effectively with her, suggesting either trust issues or operational security concerns we could exploit."
He pulled up additional analysis, this section focusing on tactical patterns and decision-making processes. "And most importantly, we know they're predictable. They respond to specific triggers in specific ways. Which means the next operation—the real operation—will be designed around exploiting those patterns. We'll create situations that force them to divide their attention, respond in predetermined ways, and ultimately fail to prevent us from achieving our actual objectives."
"There's going to be a next operation?" Mick asked, though his tone suggested he'd already assumed there would be and was mostly asking to confirm whether his boss had completely lost his mind or was still operating within acceptable parameters of criminal insanity.
"Oh, absolutely. Tonight was reconnaissance. Next time will be acquisition." Leonard's smile widened into something that would have made a shark uncomfortable. "Because now I know exactly how to steal from Central City's heroes while they're busy protecting civilians. And I know exactly what equipment I need to counter their enhanced capabilities, which will definitely not be cheap but will absolutely be worth the investment."
He pulled up specifications for advanced cryogenic systems, schematics that looked like they'd been borrowed from a supervillain's Pinterest board. "The cold gun worked, but it was insufficient. One shot, limited range, required direct line of sight, and frankly the recoil was worse than I expected. For the next operation, I need area-effect freezing, multiple deployment methods, maybe even weaponized delivery systems that don't require me to be in direct combat. Because as much as I enjoy the thrill of personal confrontation, I'm also fond of not getting punched by people who can bench-press cars."
"You're talking about a full cryogenic arsenal."
"I'm talking about technology that makes enhanced speed and flight irrelevant." Leonard's eyes gleamed with the particular enthusiasm of someone who'd found a technical challenge worth solving. "If I can flash-freeze a forty-foot radius instantly, the Flash's speed becomes a liability—he'll run directly into the effect before his enhanced brain can process what's happening and course-correct. If I can create ice storms that ground aerial combatants, Karna and the winged warrior become targets rather than threats. If I can develop personal shielding that protects against energy constructs, suddenly that golden armor becomes just a really shiny costume instead of an insurmountable tactical advantage."
"That's going to cost more money than we currently have," Mick pointed out practically.
"Which is why the next operation needs to be extremely profitable. But I'm getting ahead of myself." Leonard pulled up additional schematics, these focusing on surveillance and intelligence gathering rather than weapons development. "Weapons are only part of the equation. I also need intelligence about their support systems. Someone is providing them with advanced technology—communication equipment, monitoring systems, possibly the medical treatment that allowed the winged warrior to survive injuries that should have been incapacitating. Normal hospitals don't have facilities for treating people with literal wings."
"You think they're operating out of S.T.A.R. Labs?" Mick asked. "Harrison Wells is the only person in Central City with the resources and technical capability to support enhanced operations at that level. Plus he's got that whole 'mysterious scientist with unclear motivations' thing going on that practically screams 'secret superhero headquarters.'"
"I'm certain they're operating out of S.T.A.R. Labs." Leonard pulled up analysis of the heroes' communication patterns, signal intercepts that he'd collected through technically-illegal-but-impossible-to-prove monitoring of Central City's electromagnetic spectrum. "The signal encryption matches experimental protocols Wells published before the particle accelerator explosion. The medical treatment for enhanced individuals requires equipment that only S.T.A.R. Labs possesses. And Wells has both motive and opportunity to develop enhanced individuals into heroes—he lost everything in that explosion, and turning particle accelerator victims into superheroes is probably the best PR move he could possibly make for rebuilding his reputation."
"Weapons for what, though?" Mick pressed. "If Wells is really the one supporting these heroes, what's he getting out of it? Goodwill? Tax write-offs? The satisfaction of knowing he's helping people?"
"That's the question I haven't answered yet." Leonard stared at his displays, processing implications with the kind of analytical focus that made him genuinely dangerous. "Wells lost everything in that explosion—reputation, funding, his life's work, possibly the use of his legs depending on what rumors you believe. But instead of disappearing, selling his assets, and retiring to somewhere tropical, he's been quietly rebuilding. Treating enhanced individuals. Developing heroes. Creating what is essentially a private superhero team using resources he shouldn't technically have access to. That level of investment has a purpose beyond altruism."
"Maybe he genuinely wants to help people?" Mick suggested. "I know that's a radical concept for us to consider, but some people actually do things because they think it's the right thing to do rather than because they're getting something out of it."
"People like Harrison Wells don't help others without expecting something in return," Leonard replied with the certainty of someone who'd spent twenty years studying human motivation at its most cynical. "He's a scientist, a businessman, someone who built his career on calculating risks and maximizing returns. He's investing significant resources in these heroes—facility access, equipment, medical treatment, probably financial support we're not seeing. That investment has a purpose, and the question is whether I need to account for it in future operations or whether it's irrelevant to my immediate concerns."
Mick moved to examine the tactical maps Leonard had been studying, three-dimensional representations of Central City with marked locations where hero activity had been documented. "So what's next? We spent tonight gathering intelligence. What do we do with it? Besides develop increasingly elaborate revenge plans against people who could probably kill us if they stopped being merciful?"
"We refine our approach. We develop countermeasures for enhanced capabilities. We identify targets that will draw the heroes away while we pursue actual objectives." Leonard began making notes on future operational requirements, creating shopping lists that would alarm anyone who wasn't already comfortable with sophisticated criminal planning. "And we start building relationships with other enhanced individuals who might be willing to work with us, assuming they exist and aren't all committed to using their powers for good like responsible citizens."
"Other enhanced individuals?"
"The particle accelerator explosion created dozens, maybe hundreds of people with abilities beyond normal human limits." Leonard pulled up files on individuals he'd been monitoring through various sources—police reports, hospital records, social media posts that suggested unusual capabilities. "Most of them are probably confused, frightened, uncertain about what to do with their new capabilities. A few of them might be willing to work with someone who offers resources, guidance, and profitable employment that doesn't involve risking their lives to save strangers who won't even thank them properly."
He highlighted specific profiles, individuals whose documented activities suggested powers that would complement his operational needs. "If I can recruit even two or three enhanced people who are willing to use their abilities for financial gain, suddenly the balance of power shifts dramatically. The heroes would be facing opponents with comparable capabilities and superior planning. That's when things get really interesting."
"You're talking about building a supervillain team," Mick said, and for once his tone carried genuine concern rather than sarcastic observation. "Boss, that escalates everything. Heroes might overlook sophisticated heists, might even respect the professional craftsmanship of well-executed robberies. But enhanced criminals working together? That becomes a priority for everyone from local law enforcement to the Justice League. That's the kind of thing that brings Superman to Central City, and I don't care how good your planning is, you're not prepared to fight Superman."
"Which is why recruitment would be careful, discrete, focused on individuals who understand the value of operating below the threshold that triggers comprehensive hero response." Leonard's expression was calculating, already running scenarios and probability assessments. "I don't need an army. I don't want an army—armies are expensive, difficult to coordinate, and prone to betrayal when members decide selling each other out is more profitable than continued cooperation. I just need a few key capabilities that the heroes can't easily counter."
He pulled up specific profiles, individuals whose powers suggested tactical advantages worth the risk of recruitment. "Someone with phasing abilities who could bypass physical security without triggering alarms. Someone with technological manipulation who could disable electronic countermeasures from a distance. Someone with enhanced strength who could handle heavy cargo without equipment, making operations faster and more flexible. Recruit the right three people, and suddenly we're capable of operations the heroes can't anticipate or prevent because we're not limited by normal human constraints."
"And if they say no to your recruitment pitch?" Mick asked. "If these hypothetical enhanced individuals decide they'd rather not join your supervillain team and potentially get punched by people who can fly?"
"Then I've identified individuals who might become problems, and I can plan accordingly." Leonard's voice was matter-of-fact, carrying no malice but also no hesitation. "Information is power, Mick. Whether it's intelligence about heroes or knowledge about potential criminal competition, every piece of data makes future operations more likely to succeed. And if these enhanced individuals decide to become heroes themselves, well, at least I'll know their capabilities before they become threats."
Mick was quiet for a moment, and Leonard recognized the expression his partner got when he was about to ask something serious rather than making sarcastic observations.
"Boss, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why are you doing this?" Mick gestured at the displays showing Leonard's comprehensive analysis, weeks of work and hundreds of thousands of dollars in investments. "You've got enough money saved from previous jobs to retire comfortably. You could walk away from Central City tomorrow, start over somewhere without enhanced heroes and complicated operations. Buy a beach house, learn to surf, take up bird watching or whatever rich criminals do when they retire. Why stay? Why keep pushing when every operation brings you closer to fighting people who could accidentally kill you while trying not to?"
Leonard considered the question seriously. It was fair, after all—he had accumulated enough wealth to live comfortably for the rest of his life. Several times over, actually, if he was willing to relocate to somewhere with a lower cost of living. He could disappear tomorrow and never need to commit another crime.
But that wasn't the point.
That had never been the point.
"Because I refuse to accept that enhanced individuals make people like us obsolete," Leonard said finally, his voice carrying conviction that went beyond simple pride. "Because I need to prove that intelligence and preparation can overcome physical advantages. Because if I walk away now, I'm admitting that the future belongs to those who were lucky enough to be affected by the explosion, and the rest of us are just... irrelevant. Background characters in someone else's story."
"That's pride talking."
"That's professional pride talking," Leonard corrected. "That's twenty years of expertise that I'm not willing to throw away because some people can run really fast or fly or shoot energy beams from their hands. I've spent two decades perfecting the art of sophisticated criminal operations. I've studied every angle, every vulnerability, every way to exploit systems that were designed to be secure. And now these heroes appear—people who can run faster than cars, fly through the air, manifest energy weapons—and suddenly all that expertise is supposed to be worthless? Suddenly I'm supposed to accept that normal humans with exceptional planning skills can't compete with people who won the superpower lottery?"
He moved to stand directly in front of the displays showing tonight's operation, watching the footage loop through sequences of heroes responding to his carefully planned distractions. "So yes, tonight cost us money and we lost people to arrests. Yes, we failed to achieve our stated objective. Yes, we exposed capabilities we might have wanted to keep secret. But we also proved that enhanced individuals can be studied, predicted, and countered. We proved that careful planning beats raw power when applied correctly. We proved that people like me—normal humans with exceptional planning skills and willingness to invest in proper equipment—we're still relevant. We still matter."
"Even if proving it means escalating conflict with heroes who could probably kill us if they decided to stop being merciful?" Mick's voice carried genuine concern now. "Boss, there's a difference between professional pride and suicide by superhero."
"Especially then." Leonard's smile was cold, appreciative of the challenge. "Because mercy is their weakness, Mick. They could kill criminals if they wanted to—the Flash could vibrate his hand through someone's chest, Karna could manifest weapons designed for lethal force, that winged warrior clearly has the combat training to kill efficiently. But they choose not to because they're bound by ethics and public perception and the belief that killing makes them no better than the people they're fighting. As long as they maintain that limitation, we have advantages they'll never possess."
"The advantage of being willing to do what they won't."
"Exactly. I'm not advocating violence for its own sake—dead civilians complicate operations, create problems we don't need, and frankly would make me feel bad because I'm not actually a monster despite the whole 'career criminal' thing. But I am willing to be pragmatic about force levels in ways the heroes can't afford to be. That gap between their ethical constraints and my tactical flexibility? That's where operations succeed. That's where normal humans prove they can still compete in a world full of enhanced individuals."
Mick nodded slowly, understanding Leonard's logic even if he didn't entirely agree with all its implications. "So what's the actual next operation? What's the real target now that we've done reconnaissance and gathered all this expensive intelligence?"
"I haven't decided yet." Leonard pulled up a list of potential targets he'd been compiling, each one analyzed for risk, reward, and probability of success. "It needs to be significant enough to justify the resources we'll invest, but not so dramatic that it triggers comprehensive hero response from beyond Central City. I don't want Superman showing up because we stole something the Justice League cares about. It needs to have clear financial value while also providing opportunities to test our enhanced countermeasures without risking complete operational failure if the countermeasures don't work as planned."
He studied the list thoughtfully, running scenarios and probability assessments with the kind of focus that had made him the most successful thief in Central City's history. "I'm leaning toward the Federal Reserve branch transfer that happens monthly. Approximately $50 million in currency being moved from the main vault to regional banks. Heavily secured, professionally guarded, exactly the kind of target that normal criminals wouldn't attempt because the security-to-reward ratio seems terrible."
"Which is why the heroes might not anticipate it," Mick said, following the logic. "They're expecting us to go after technology or art—high-value items that sophisticated criminals typically target. Nobody's dumb enough to try stealing actual government currency in transit. The security is too tight, the response too fast, the risk too high."
"Nobody except someone who's already proven they can create sophisticated distractions while executing actual objectives." Leonard's smile widened into something genuinely pleased. "The heroes will be expecting us to try the convoy heist again, probably with modifications to counter what we learned tonight. They'll be preparing for us to hit technological targets, art galleries, research facilities—things that match our established pattern. They won't be prepared for us to shift targets entirely and go after something as pedestrian as government currency."
"When's the next transfer?"
"Three weeks from tomorrow. Which gives me time to develop enhanced countermeasures, recruit potential team members if I can find anyone stupid enough to join a supervillain team, and refine our approach based on tonight's intelligence." Leonard began making detailed notes, creating timelines and resource requirements. "By the time we execute, we'll have contingencies for every hero capability we observed tonight, plus backup plans for complications we can't anticipate. We'll have equipment specifically designed to counter speed, flight, and energy constructs. And we'll have operational security tight enough that even if someone betrays us, they won't know enough to actually compromise the operation."
"And if Supergirl decides to take a more active interest in Central City's criminal operations?" Mick asked. "She was at that mall tonight. If she starts coordinating with the local heroes, suddenly we're not just fighting Central City's team—we're fighting Central City's team plus a Kryptonian who can bench-press aircraft carriers."
"Then we implement protocols specifically designed to exploit Kryptonian weaknesses," Leonard replied without hesitation, like this was something he'd already considered and planned for because of course he had. "I've been studying Superman for years—specifically, the documented patterns of how he can be temporarily neutralized without requiring lethal force. Specific energy frequencies that interfere with Kryptonian biology. Environmental hazards that force him to prioritize civilian safety over crime prevention. Tactical distractions that exploit his compulsive need to save everyone even when it's tactically stupid."
"You've got plans for fighting Superman?" Mick's voice carried equal parts admiration and concern. "Plans that you think would actually work against someone who can move planets if he's having a good day?"
"I've got research about Superman's documented vulnerabilities that might be applicable to other Kryptonians," Leonard clarified carefully. "I'm not advocating direct combat with someone who can bench-press aircraft carriers. I'm not that crazy, despite what tonight's operation might suggest. I'm just noting that even the most powerful heroes have exploitable limitations. Superman has to breathe. He prioritizes civilian safety above everything else. He responds predictably to specific triggers. Those patterns can be exploited if you're willing to be creative and somewhat morally flexible about methodology."
Mick was quiet for a moment, processing this with the expression of someone who'd just realized his boss might be crazier than he'd initially assessed. "Boss, you're either the smartest criminal I've ever worked with, or you're going to get us both killed by heroes who decide we've crossed too many lines. And I'm genuinely not sure which outcome is more likely at this point."
"Probably both," Leonard agreed with the kind of cheerful honesty that made it impossible to tell if he was joking. "But until that happens, we're going to prove that normal humans with exceptional planning can operate successfully in a world full of enhanced individuals. And we're going to do it while making enough money to retire comfortably when we're ready to walk away. Or when the heroes finally catch us. Whichever comes first."
He began shutting down his systems, erasing data trails and ensuring that nothing remained that could be traced back to his identity or location. The analysis would be stored in encrypted format on portable drives that never connected to networks, the video footage would be carefully edited to remove identifying features, and the abandoned factory would be cleared of any forensic evidence before he left. Because Leonard Snart might be crazy enough to fight superheroes, but he wasn't stupid enough to leave evidence lying around.
"Get some sleep, Mick," Leonard said as he finished his security protocols. "Tomorrow we start planning the real operation. Tonight was just the opening move in a very long game."
"The opening move in a game with heroes who can fly and run at impossible speeds and manifest weapons from divine armor."
"The opening move in a game I intend to win," Leonard corrected, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "Because the one thing heroes never expect is someone who's willing to be patient, methodical, and professional rather than dramatic and desperate. They're prepared for supervillains who monologue about their plans. They're not prepared for criminals who treat this like a business and plan accordingly."
As Mick left—probably to find more beef jerky and possibly some ice for the back he'd pulled—Leonard prepared to abandon this temporary base. He'd find another location, set up new surveillance, continue gathering intelligence about Central City's heroes and their support systems.
He found himself thinking about the heroes he'd observed tonight. Young, idealistic, genuinely committed to protecting people. They reminded him of himself at their age—believing that talent and determination could overcome any obstacle, that the world made sense if you just worked hard enough to understand it.
The difference was that Leonard had learned to temper idealism with pragmatism. Had learned that the world rewarded those who adapted rather than those who held rigid principles. Had learned that survival required being smarter than your opponents and more willing to do whatever it took to win.
The heroes would learn the same lessons eventually.
Either through experience, or through defeat.
And Leonard Snart intended to be an excellent teacher, whether they appreciated the education or not.
*One operation at a time,* he thought as he walked out into Central City's night air, which smelled like rain and industrial pollution and the particular scent of a city that never quite slept. *First develop countermeasures that can actually stop people who can fly. Then recruit team members who are enhanced enough to matter but desperate enough to work with a career criminal. Then execute the operation that proves normal humans are still relevant in a world of enhanced individuals.*
*And then—maybe—figure out what Harrison Wells is really doing with his enhanced protégés.*
*Because something about that situation didn't add up.*
*And Leonard Snart had built his entire career on exploiting situations that didn't add up.*
Time to get to work.
Time to prove that intelligence and preparation could beat superpowers.
Time to rob a Federal Reserve transfer and retire to somewhere tropical.
Or die trying, which would at least make for an interesting obituary.
---
## S.T.A.R. Labs - Medical Wing - 11:52 PM
Kendra lay on a medical examination table that was probably designed for studying particle physics rather than injured people but had been repurposed for superhero medical treatment because apparently that's how life worked now. Her damaged wing spread out for Caitlin to examine with equipment that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie—which, given everything else that had happened in the past few weeks, was honestly par for the course.
The golden feathers that had been struck by the cold gun were visibly compromised—some cracked, others completely shattered, leaving gaps in the wing's structure that made Karan's stomach clench just looking at them. It looked painful. It looked expensive to fix. It looked like exactly the kind of injury that happened when you threw an inexperienced hero at a criminal genius with experimental weapons.
"How bad is it?" Kendra asked, her voice carefully controlled despite obvious pain. "And please give me the real answer, not the 'everything's fine' answer that doctors give when they don't want to admit you're dying."
"Structurally significant but not permanent," Caitlin replied, scanning the damaged areas with what appeared to be specialized medical sensors that probably cost more than most people's houses. "The cold gun caused crystalline fractures in the feathers that make them unable to support your weight during flight. It's similar to stress fractures in bones, if bones were made of mystical golden feathers from Egyptian gods. But your enhanced healing is already beginning to repair the damage. I'm seeing cellular regeneration that suggests complete recovery within seventy-two hours, assuming you don't do anything stupid like try to fly before then."
"Three days," Kendra said. "That's... not as bad as I was expecting. I thought maybe you'd tell me I'd never fly again, would need extensive surgery, possibly mechanical wing replacements, definitely therapy."
"It could have been much worse," Caitlin said seriously, her medical professional voice cutting through any attempt at humor. "If that cold gun had hit your torso instead of your wing, the flash-freezing would have affected your internal organs. Even with enhanced physiology—even with the kind of durability that lets you survive falls that would kill normal humans—that could have caused catastrophic damage. Frozen organs don't work very well, regardless of how magical your healing factor is."
Karan stood in the doorway, watching the medical examination while processing everything that had happened tonight. They'd stopped the hostage situation without casualties. Protected the convoy from immediate theft, though Snart had still managed to steal some cargo in the confusion. Disabled Snart's weapons platform, though he'd already gotten the tactical intelligence he wanted from deploying it. By most metrics, the operation had been successful.
By most metrics, they'd done their jobs as heroes.
But it hadn't felt like success.
It had felt like they'd barely survived through luck and desperate improvisation rather than through planning and skill. It had felt like they'd won a battle but might be losing a war they didn't even know they were fighting.
"How are you feeling?" he asked Kendra, because someone needed to acknowledge she'd been hurt protecting this city.
"Like I got hit by a truck made of ice and explosions," she replied with dark humor that suggested she was handling the trauma through sarcasm, which honestly seemed healthy given the circumstances. "Also questioning my life choices that led to 'getting shot with experimental cryogenic weapons' being a Saturday night activity. When I imagined my life after discovering I was a reincarnated Egyptian princess, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking more museum tours, maybe learning hieroglyphics, possibly some tasteful jewelry. Not 'getting flash-frozen by a supervillain while protecting cargo trucks.'"
"Welcome to superhero work," Karan said. "It's all glamour and excitement, just like the movies. Minus the glamour. And the excitement is mostly terror mixed with adrenaline crashes."
"If the movies included more discussions about cellular regeneration and less heroic monologues, I might have made different career choices."
---
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