Barry continued planning.
Geographic targets. Lian Yu.
The island in the North China Sea where Oliver Queen would spend most of his five years of hell. Where Slade Wilson was currently operating.
Where there were resources, training opportunities, and secrets that could be exploited.
Training facilities. Gyms. Dojos. Fighting circuits. Places where Barry could transform this weak, untrained body into something dangerous.
The list grew. Pages filled with notes, connections, timelines.
The particle accelerator wouldn't launch for at least four to five years based on what he remembered of the show's timeline and current technological development.
That gave him time. Years to prepare. Years to build wealth, skills, knowledge.
Years to ensure that when that lightning finally struck, it wouldn't hit some unprepared CSI stumbling through his origin story.
It would hit someone ready to become something unprecedented.
Barry looked at his reflection in the dark laptop screen before it fully loaded. His eyes looked different now. Harder. More focused.
He was done being ordinary.
First priority: money. Liquidate everything. Set up the short positions through shell companies to avoid attention. Let Queen Consolidated crash and ride it to the bottom.
Then the real work would begin.
Barry Allen was going to quit being a victim of circumstances and become something this universe had never seen before.
---
The Central City Bank opened at nine AM sharp on a Wednesday morning.
Barry was already waiting outside, dressed in his work clothes but having called in sick to the CCPD for the first time in six months.
The excuse was weak, something about a stomach bug, but he didn't care. What he needed to do today was more important than processing evidence in the crime lab.
He walked inside the moment the doors unlocked, heading straight to a desk where a personal banker sat organizing her morning paperwork.
She looked up with a professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes at this early hour.
"Good morning. How can I help you?"
Barry sat down, pulling out his phone with the banking app already open. "I need to liquidate several accounts and transfer the funds to my checking account. Savings, investment account, and some bonds."
The banker's smile became slightly more interested. "Of course. Do you have your account information?"
Twenty minutes later, Barry walked out of the bank with $6,947 in his checking account. The savings were empty.
The investment account was closed. The bonds from childhood were cashed in. All of it consolidated into liquid capital he could actually use.
Next stop: his car.
He drove the sedan to three different used car dealerships before finding one willing to give him a decent offer. $2,800 cash, paid immediately.
The dealer seemed confused why someone would sell without having another vehicle lined up first, but Barry just took the money and called a cab.
$9,747 total.
Not quite ten thousand, but close enough.
The cab dropped him off at an internet café downtown.
Barry paid for two hours of computer time and settled into a booth in the back corner where nobody would see his screen.
His fingers flew across the keyboard with a speed and precision that surprised him. The enhanced intellect wasn't just making him think faster.
It was improving his coordination, his ability to multitask, his memory retention.
He opened multiple browser tabs, accessing offshore banking websites through VPN connections.
Setting up shell companies wasn't difficult if you knew where to look. There were services that specialized in this kind of thing, operating in legal gray areas that asked few questions as long as you paid the fees.
Two hours and $500 in setup fees later, Barry had three shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands.
Each one had its own bank account. Each one was technically legal, just buried under enough paperwork that casual investigation wouldn't immediately connect them to Barry Allen, CSI from Central City.
He distributed his $9,247 across the three accounts, then began opening brokerage accounts linked to each shell company.
His mind tracked passwords, account numbers, routing information without needing to write anything down.
Everything stayed organized in his head with perfect clarity.
By noon, he was ready.
Barry pulled up Queen Consolidated's stock information. Currently trading at $47.23 per share. The Queen's Gambit was scheduled to depart in thirteen days according to the timeline he remembered.
The news would break approximately two days after that when the wreckage was discovered.
Fifteen days until the crash.
He couldn't short the stock yet. Too early would raise questions. Too late would miss the optimal entry point. He needed to wait until the absolute last moment before the news broke, then execute everything at once.
Barry closed the browser, cleared the cache, and left the internet café.
His phone buzzed as he walked down the street.
A text from Joe West.
Read more on p.a.t.r.e.o.n: marvelstark