CHAPTER 26: SNART'S GROWTH
Snart's reconnaissance report identified the anomaly three days before the Legends' hiatus officially ended.
1920s Atlantic City. Prohibition era, bootlegger operations, federal enforcement—standard historical backdrop. Except someone had introduced radio technology fifty years ahead of schedule, giving the criminal underground a communications advantage that shouldn't exist.
[TEMPORAL ANOMALY — 1924 ATLANTIC CITY]
[CLASSIFICATION: TECHNOLOGICAL CONTAMINATION]
[THREAT LEVEL: LOW]
[ABSORPTION POTENTIAL: MODERATE (35-50 ⧖)]
[RECOMMENDATION: AGENT INTERVENTION — FIELD TEST OPPORTUNITY]
I reviewed the data in my quarters, interface expanded to tactical display mode. The anomaly was small—too small for the Legends to prioritize, too small to attract attention from whatever the Legion was building. But for a newly contracted agent looking to prove himself, it was perfect.
[COMMUNICATION CHANNEL — AGENT: LEONARD SNART]
"Boss." Snart's voice was crisp, professional. "Saw the flag on the Atlantic City situation."
"Thoughts?"
"Bootleggers with future tech. Feds who can't figure out why their raids keep failing. Classic temporal contamination." A pause. "The equipment's concentrated in three locations: warehouse on the docks, speakeasy in the basement of a hotel, and a radio station that doesn't officially exist."
"You've done additional reconnaissance."
"I've done my job." The smirk was audible. "The question is whether you want me to clean it up."
I considered the variables. Snart was Level 2—basic operational capability, limited combat enhancement, no resurrection backup beyond my checkpoints. The anomaly was low-threat, but 1920s organized crime wasn't something to take lightly.
Field test, the system had recommended. Opportunity to prove the agent model works.
"Solo intervention authorized. Standard protocols: neutralize the contamination, absorb residual energy, exit clean." I paused. "And Snart? Don't get creative. We're not trying to reshape Prohibition—just remove the anachronistic element."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"The fun is in the immortality and skill progression. The job is the cleanup."
A laugh. "Fair enough. I'll report when it's done."
The channel closed. I tracked his movement through the checkpoint network—a brief transit from Chicago 1871 to the Atlantic City insertion point. The system registered his arrival and went quiet.
Two hours passed. Then three.
I caught myself checking the agent status panel more often than necessary. The tracker showed Snart active, location updating as he moved through the city, vitals stable. Everything was fine. Everything was going according to plan.
This is what delegation feels like, I realized. Sending someone else to do the work and hoping they don't die.
The memory surfaced unbidden: Norway, the storage room, the mercenaries closing in. I'd been alone then, with six bullets and no backup. Snart had backup now—the contract, the respawn, the checkpoint network. If something went wrong, he'd wake up in Chicago with his coat intact.
But the waiting still gnawed.
[ATLANTIC CITY — 1924]
[AGENT POV: LEONARD SNART]
The speakeasy smelled like cheap gin and cheaper cigars.
Snart moved through the crowd with practiced ease—the 1920s criminal underworld spoke his language. Different clothes, different slang, same fundamental dynamics: money talked, violence threatened, and everyone was running some kind of angle.
The radio equipment was in the back room, hidden behind a wall of liquor bottles that concealed a steel door. Two guards flanked the entrance, their suits bulging with obvious weapons.
Amateurs, Snart thought. In my day, we at least tried to be subtle about it.
The system interface flickered at the edge of his vision—still strange, still intrusive, but increasingly useful. Target indicators highlighted the guards, threat assessments calculated his odds, and a small progress bar tracked his mission objectives.
[OBJECTIVE 1: NEUTRALIZE TECHNOLOGICAL CONTAMINATION — 0/3]
[OBJECTIVE 2: ABSORB TEMPORAL RESIDUE — 0%]
[OPTIONAL: MAINTAIN TIMELINE INTEGRITY — ACTIVE]
Three locations. This was the first.
He approached the guards with the confidence of someone who belonged. "Got a delivery for Mr. Capaldi. Radio parts."
"Capaldi doesn't take deliveries through the front."
"Then he shouldn't have given me this address." Snart held up a business card—forged, obviously, but accurate enough to pass casual inspection. "You want to explain to him why his equipment was late?"
The guards exchanged looks. Capaldi was apparently someone worth not annoying. They stepped aside.
The back room was smaller than expected—a converted storage space crammed with equipment that had no business existing in 1924. Crystal radios, yes. Vacuum tubes, acceptable. But the digital signal processor sitting on the central table was forty years too advanced, and the encryption unit beside it was closer to sixty.
Someone's been shopping in the future.
Snart pulled his cold gun. The weapon felt right in his hand—familiar, reassuring, a constant in a world that kept changing the rules. He'd worried that the resurrection might have affected his connection to it, but the ice still responded to his thoughts like it always had.
He fired three precise shots. The equipment froze, cracked, shattered into crystalline fragments that would be dismissed as some kind of manufacturing defect.
[CONTAMINATION NEUTRALIZED — LOCATION 1/3]
[TEMPORAL RESIDUE DETECTED — INITIATING ABSORPTION]
The absorption was different from what Bennett had described. Where Shane pulled energy through concentration, Snart felt it flow into him like cold water—his contract linking him to the system, channeling the temporal residue through pathways he didn't fully understand.
[ABSORPTION COMPLETE: +15 ⧖ (SHARED — 60% TO HOST)]
Sixty percent to Bennett. Forty percent to himself. The contract terms in action.
Fair enough. He's the one who gave me the tools.
Snart exited through the kitchen, leaving confusion and frozen machinery in his wake. Two more locations. Two more pieces of future tech to destroy.
The warehouse was easier—late night, minimal guards, equipment stored in crates that made for satisfying targets. The radio station was harder—active broadcast, workers present, timing required. But Snart had been timing heists since he was fifteen. This was just another job.
[CONTAMINATION NEUTRALIZED — ALL LOCATIONS]
[TEMPORAL RESIDUE ABSORBED — TOTAL: +42 ⧖ (SHARED)]
[TIMELINE INTEGRITY: MAINTAINED]
[MISSION COMPLETE]
The notification that followed was unexpected:
[EXPERIENCE THRESHOLD REACHED]
[AGENT LEVEL UP: 2 → 3]
[NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: TACTICAL COORDINATION]
[— PASSIVE: ENHANCED AWARENESS OF ALLIED POSITIONS]
[— ACTIVE: TEMPORARY COMBAT BOOST TO NEARBY ALLIES (COST: 10 ✧)]
Level 3. Snart studied the skill description with something approaching genuine interest. Combat abilities, coordination functions, the building blocks of what might eventually be a proper team.
Bennett's building an army, he realized. Not just agents—soldiers. A force that can operate across time.
The ambition was impressive. Possibly delusional. Definitely interesting.
He activated the transit, letting Atlantic City fade into the static of temporal displacement.
[WAVERIDER — SHANE'S QUARTERS]
[AGENT STATUS UPDATE]
The notification pulled me out of mission prep. Snart's status panel had changed:
[AGENT 001: LEONARD SNART]
[TIER: 2 (STANDARD)]
[LEVEL: 3 (+1)]
[SKILLS: INFILTRATION (2), TEMPORAL AWARENESS (1), TACTICAL COORDINATION (1) — NEW]
[STATUS: MISSION COMPLETE — RETURNING TO CHECKPOINT]
Level 3. First field mission, clean execution, successful progression.
The agent model works.
The satisfaction was professional—pride in an employee's performance, not personal triumph. But it was real, and it mattered. Snart had proven that contracted agents could operate independently, complete objectives, and grow without constant supervision.
[COMMUNICATION CHANNEL — AGENT: LEONARD SNART]
"Report," I said.
"Contamination neutralized. Timeline stable. Equipment destroyed." Snart's voice carried quiet satisfaction. "The roaring twenties roar a little quieter now."
"I saw the level notification. Congratulations."
"Tactical Coordination." He tested the words. "Implies I'll eventually have someone to coordinate with."
"Eventually. When the organization grows."
"Looking forward to it." A pause. "Anything else, boss?"
"Get some rest. The Legends reassemble tomorrow. I'll be out of communication for mission periods."
"Understood. I'll keep monitoring."
The channel closed. I sat with the data, watching Snart's level indicator glow steady on my interface.
Proof of concept, I thought. Walking and talking.
Author's Note / Support the Story
Your Reviews and Power Stones help the story grow! They are the best way to support the series and help new readers find us.
Want to read ahead? Get instant access to more chapters by supporting me on Patreon. Choose your tier to skip the wait:
Noble ($7): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public.
Royal ($11): Read 17 chapters ahead of the public.
Emperor ($17): Read 24 chapters ahead of the public.
Weekly Updates: New chapters are added every week. See the pinned "Schedule" post on Patreon for the full update calendar.
Join here: patreon.com/Kingdom1Building