The nuclear fission in Central City was complete. Vast amounts of thermal energy had built up toward the breaking point. The explosion was imminent, and Barry had nothing left—he kept running at super-speed, still desperately trying to think of a solution.
He'd crossed an ocean to find two goddesses in England. This was his last option. If it failed, he would have no choice but to jump back in time and prevent it from ever happening.
"Don't worry. I'll handle it." Thea was not going to stand by and watch—never mind Barry's plea, even if no one had come to her she couldn't have watched a nuclear bomb go off and done nothing.
The distance was considerable and time was almost gone. Teleportation was no longer an option. Both her magic and Barry's Flashtime worked the same way at the core: not a true stoppage of time, but a finite stretching of that one real-world second.
She cast her perception across the vast distance to Central City. The fission was complete, the thermal energy primed. Left alone, the explosion would occur in less time than it took to blink.
For the people of Central City—a city second only to Star City, Gotham, and Metropolis—for more than a million residents, and to spare her mother the distinction of being the first president under whom a nuclear device detonated on American soil, Thea committed everything she had.
Maintaining her own Flashtime while projecting divine power across that distance, she drew on Fifth-Dimensional techniques to simulate what she needed, channeling a vast amount of divine power to forcibly suppress the nuclear explosion's energy before overwriting it.
It was not a simple operation. She had to work on an energy buildup that was still actively increasing, at extreme range, under severe time pressure, with the device in constant flux. Every one of those factors compounded the difficulty.
Barry watched in tense silence. Under Flashtime it felt like a full minute passed before Thea finished rewriting the device.
"I can hold it suppressed for about ten seconds. Let's move." She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Only she could have done this.
"Ten seconds real-world?" Barry was still asking. She didn't have time to explain—she grabbed him and Diana and teleported to Central City.
The cargo depot. She recognized faces: Cisco, Caitlin, Barry's father-in-law Joe West, and several armed robbers gathered around a large shipping container. Because she and the others were inside their own stretched time, the outside world stood perfectly still.
A.R.G.U.S. had their modern management methods down to a fine art—clear labeling, strict categorization, thorough signage. They had painted an enormous A.R.G.U.S. logo on the side of the container—as if afraid the robbers might not find it, or that no one would know which department it came from. Everything short of a placard reading NUCLEAR DEVICE INSIDE had been done.
Amanda Waller had apparently decided that anyone who dared touch A.R.G.U.S. property would face consequences regardless of distance, and had not bothered with a single precaution beyond that bravado. No concealment. No superpowered guards. The only security present was a handful of officers on loan from the Central City Police Department.
At least when Bane had tried to blow up Gotham, a physicist had been required to complete the detonation. What sat in front of Thea now required nothing but a button. Press it, and the entire city would cease to exist.
Moving a device like this across the country without adequate protection—A.R.G.U.S. bore undeniable responsibility. As for the robbers: they had been willing to die for this and take the city with them. Maniacs.
The experimental nuclear fission device was gone. In its place stood a large playground elephant slide, rendered in a cheerful, cartoonish style.
"I..." Barry stared at the thing responsible for the worst few minutes of his life and had absolutely no idea how to feel.
"Don't focus on the aesthetics. The underlying reality hasn't changed—and we're still on the clock." Thea would have preferred something more dignified, but Fifth-Dimensional beings' powers had their own sense of humor. She couldn't help it.
"We've got this from here. You've done enough." She waved Barry off before he could help and rapidly identified a remote, uninhabited asteroid. Diana stepped forward, wrapped her arms around the elephant slide, and hurled it through the portal.
The instant the portal closed, a sound came from the other side—distant but absolute, the concussive roll of something enormous tearing itself apart.
A catastrophe that could have filled history books was averted. But no one had time to rest.
An attempted nuclear detonation on American soil—and not merely an attempt; it had technically succeeded. This was not something that could be minimized.
Batman—who seemed never to sleep—arrived first, having just finished his nightly patrol of Gotham when word reached him. Superman was pulled from bed. The rest of the League was assembled without exception and a field meeting was called in Central City.
The Flash was running on empty; Thea was exhausted from forcing a real-world nuclear detonation to a halt through sheer power. Diana explained what had happened.
The assembled heroes were shaken. Central City—located in Missouri, a geographical hub whose name matched its position—would have been devastated at the epicenter, with fallout affecting several surrounding cities, the national economy collapsing, and ripple effects touching every sector of society for years. The chaos would have been difficult to fathom.
The interrogation results were almost grimly funny. Batman had barely started questioning the perpetrators when they began talking like proud activists.
They were not religious extremists. They were a civic organization. Their cause: anti-nuclear energy. Their stated mission: protecting the Earth's environment.
A collective thought formed in most heroes' minds simultaneously. These people are insane.
"Humans have too many weapons. Too many dangerous ones." Aquaman—rarely the first to speak—said something unprompted. He had never been comfortable with the extent of human armament. "A civic organization was able to get its hands on that kind of hardware. Is that normal?"
He pointed at the perpetrators. "If they hadn't had weapons, how would they have overpowered the police? How would they have set off that bomb?"
"You're talking about banning guns?" Thea asked.
Aquaman nodded. That was exactly what he meant.
The room went quiet. Banning guns—obviously desirable. At minimum, it was desirable from a superhero's perspective. The reason almost all active heroes now had superpowers was partly a natural filter: the ones who didn't were dead. Ordinary heroes rarely survived long enough to gain experience before being shot in some back alley.
Over time, superheroism had become a field dominated by metahumans. Even someone like Batman had advantages that street-level heroes could only dream of—the technology, the rigorous training of the League of Assassins, the resources that no one without a Wayne fortune behind them could access.
Full of heart, wanting to do good, wanting to fight for justice—but the moment someone with a rubber baton and a homemade mask walked out onto the street, their fate was already written. Ninety-nine out of a hundred died in some unremarkable corner of some unremarkable city.