Mia's Perspective –
Thump-thump-thump.
Mia's heartbeat thundered in her ears, louder than the rain tapping the window. Her arms trembled—not with fear, but with exhaustion. She'd lost count of the drills, the repetitions, the bruises blooming along her shins and forearms. The memory of freezing during the flood haunted her, a ghost she refused to let settle. She jabbed at the air, picturing her own hesitation as the enemy.
Not this time. Not again. She wouldn't let fear win, not while Oliver and the others still needed her. She had a promise to keep.
She moved through her cramped apartment, sweat slicking her skin, the air thick with ozone and determination. Outside, the city was a blur of neon and storm clouds. Inside, she was a fortress. Or so she thought.
A van idled outside, its engine a low, predatory growl beneath the rain. Mia didn't notice. She was too focused, too deep in the rhythm of her training. She only paused when a faint click whispered from the door—a noise too soft to be the wind.
She froze, every sense on high alert. Her hand went to the blade taped beneath her desk, the worn tape rough against her fingertips. The window slid open with a whisper, and a gust of cold air swept in, carrying the sharp scent of rain—and something else. Something wrong, metallic, like ozone and old rust.
Shadows spilled across the floor.
A figure moved with ghostlike precision, a black-clad shape slipping through the darkness. The mask was featureless, except for a single, burning red eye. A faint, mechanical hum emanated from him—a disturbing signature that filled the sudden silence.
Mia didn't hesitate. She lunged, blade flashing, aiming for the throat. The attacker caught her wrist mid-strike, grip like iron, squeezing until her fingers ached. She twisted, driving her knee up—catching him with a jarring thud in the ribs. He grunted, but didn't let go. His unyielding strength was a cold shock.
A second figure appeared behind her. Mia spun, slashing wildly, blade a frantic blur, catching fabric and flesh. She heard a sharp hiss of pain—she could win this. Blood, warm and slick, spattered the wall.
Then a gloved hand, rough and chemical-scented, clamped over her mouth. She bit down, hard, tasting blood and latex. The attacker hissed but didn't flinch. Something cold pressed against her neck—a syringe. She jerked away, muscles screaming, but the needle grazed her skin. A sharp, icy prick. Her vision swam, the room tilting.
She fought anyway. Elbow, knee, teeth—anything to leave a mark, to buy another second. Her movements felt awkward, heavy, the exhaustion pulling at her limbs, but she pushed through. In a desperate flash, a sensory trigger hit her: the echo of Storm-Walker's boots on tile—the move against Drakon—a trick of speed and misdirection. She feinted left, stumbling, then darted right, twisting free for a split second.
For a heartbeat, it worked. Her hand shot out, grasping for her bracelet communicator, the cool metal a phantom promise of escape.
But the man in black was no ordinary foe. He anticipated her, moving with chilling precision. His hand seized her arm before she could escape, halting her flight.
Another hiss. The tranquilizer's cold bite spread like wildfire through her veins, a freezing numbness creeping up her arm. Mia's vision blurred, the room swimming, but she refused to give in. Just one more breath, Mia. Stay awake. The hum from the attacker grew louder, filling her ears.
And then she saw him—really saw him. The helmet was all angles and darkness, like a knight's mask from a nightmare, but sleeker, more menacing. The single, glowing visor, a malevolent red, cut through the shadows, hiding any trace of humanity. It was silent, unreadable, and as her strength faded, that cold, inhuman glare was the last thing she saw.
No. Not this time…
Darkness closed in. Mia's world went silent.
***
Unknown Location (01:00:00)
She woke to cold metal biting into her wrists and ankles. Her arms and legs were stretched wide, body pinned to an X-shaped St. Andrew's Cross bolted to the floor. A bomb was strapped tight to her torso, its digital timer glaring: 01:00:00. The restraints were seamless, unbreakable. The air was sharp with disinfectant and dread.
She tested her bonds, flexing her fingers, searching for weakness, the rough texture of the restraints chafing her skin. Nothing immediately gave. She catalogued her injuries—bruised ribs aching with every shallow breath, a split lip that tasted of coppery blood, a throbbing ache in her neck where the tranquilizer had hit.
This isn't over. Not while I can still think. Oliver… Dinah… Roy… I can't let him hurt them because of me.
A speaker crackled overhead, the static like a living thing. Prometheus's voice, distorted and calm, filled the room, sending shivers down her spine.
"Welcome, Mia. You fought well. Better than most. Your fear for them, for your little team… it's almost admirable. You're the city's little martyr now. When the timer hits zero, the world will see what happens to hope."
She glared at the ceiling, spitting the words out, the cut on her lip stinging. "Go to hell."
A low, insistent mechanical hum pulsed through the room, almost like a heartbeat, but colder.
"Defiant. Good," Prometheus replied, his voice as smooth and cold as glass. "That will make this more interesting."
The hum lingered, a chilling reminder that he was still there, watching, waiting for her to slip.
A screen flickered to life in front of her, bathing the chamber in sickly light. It showed a live feed of the Arrow Cave. She saw Oliver, Dinah, Roy, and Curtis—her family—frantic, desperate, their faces etched with worry as they searched for her. A pang of raw fear, not for herself, but for what Prometheus would do to them if she failed, pierced her.
Prometheus's voice was a whisper in her ear, chillingly intimate. "They're watching. The whole city is watching. Let's see how long you last."
A timer, stark and digital, appeared on the screen—counting down from one hour. Each descending digit felt like a physical blow.
She refused to answer, refusing him the satisfaction. Instead, she focused on her breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, anchoring herself in the present. She searched the room, her eyes darting through the gloom for anything—anything—that could help her escape.
The restraints were high-tech, seamless, but she noticed a small panel near her left hand. If she could just—
A jolt of raw electricity coursed through the restraints, making her cry out, her muscles clenching in agony. Prometheus's voice was cold, flat, utterly devoid of mercy.
"No cheating. The game has rules, Knight. This isn't your board to control."
She glared at the camera, pushing past the pain. "You're a coward. Hiding behind screens, just like always. You'll never break them. You'll never break me."
A pause. A beat of silence, then a low, unnerving chuckle from the speaker.
"Perhaps. But I am the one in control. And the game has only begun."
***
Arrow Cave (00:57:42)
The Arrow Cave was silent, save for the hum of Curtis's computers and the steady drip from Oliver's soaked jacket. Dinah paced, boots leaving wet prints on concrete, her anxiety a palpable thing. Roy sat hunched in the corner, head in his hands, knuckles white against his temples, radiating a volatile mix of fear and rage.
The silence shattered as an alarm blared—sharp, insistent, impossible to ignore.
Curtis's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Silent alarm—Mia's apartment! She's… she's gone!" His voice was tight, choked, laced with guilt. "I should have had better protocols."
Oliver was already moving, grabbing his bow, his face a mask of grim determination. His hands, usually so steady, trembled for a second. Not again. I can't lose another.
Then, the main monitor flickered to life, showing Mia, bound to the cross, the bomb strapped to her chest. Curtis's voice broke. "She's—she's on a cross. There's a bomb on her. If we move in, it'll go off." His T-Spheres buzzed, circling his head like anxious fireflies. "We have fifty-seven minutes."
Roy surged to his feet, fury burning in his eyes. "He's making us watch. He's making the whole city watch!"
Dinah stepped between them, her voice trembling but firm, a steel core beneath the fear. She placed a steadying hand on Oliver's arm, then Roy's shoulder. "We're not letting her die for his game. Not tonight. Not to him. We save her together. Or not at all. We stick together, that's our only play."
Oliver's hands, now steadier, loaded his bow, each arrow clicking into place like a final beat. "Focus. We're getting her back. All of us. And we do it his way, until we can force him to play ours. This is about Mia. Nothing else."
***
Citywide Broadcast (00:54:19)
Every screen in Star City flickered to life, showing the live feed of Mia, bound and defiant, bomb strapped to her chest, timer counting down. Outside, the wail of sirens grew louder, drowned out by the rising crescendo of shouts and panicked whispers as citizens stared at public screens, terrified. Social media feeds exploded, a maelstrom of fear and speculation.
Prometheus's voice, distorted and chillingly calm, filled the air, broadcast to every device, every screen:
"Storm-Walker, you like to make statements. Let's see if you can answer mine.
Queen, you failed your city. Let's see if you can save your family.
This is my move. Your turn, King.
People of Star City, your knight is helpless. When the clock runs out, her suffering will be your lesson. Watch. Hope. Despair."
Panic ripped through the city, a tangible wave of fear. In the Arrow Cave, the team stood frozen, the weight of every citizen's hope pressing down on them, combined with their own raw terror.
Dinah gripped Oliver's arm, her voice low but urgent, a fierce determination in her eyes. "We're not losing her. Not tonight. Not to him." She glanced at Roy, then Curtis, her gaze a silent command for them to hold it together.
Curtis hunched over his console, fingers flying across the holographic keyboard, sweat beading on his brow. "He's bouncing the signal everywhere, hijacking every major broadcast network," he muttered, voice hoarse but filled with resolve. "But I'll pin it down. I swear it, Oliver. I won't fail her again."
Roy slammed his fist into the wall, a fresh crack appearing beside the last. "We can't just sit here. I'm going after him. I'll tear this city apart." He stared wildly at the door, a dangerous recklessness in his eyes.
Dinah stepped in front of him, her stance unyielding. "We do this together, Roy. Splitting up is exactly what he wants. We play smart, not reckless."
***
Kairon – Rooftop, Watching the City (00:52:08)
Rain hammered the rooftop, blurring the neon skyline and streaking Kairon's mask with cold rivulets. Below, Star City's panic pulsed like a living thing—sirens wailed, shouts echoed, and the distant hum of news vans converged on chaos. He could almost taste the fear in the air.
[Sage's voice, calm but edged with warning, crackled in his earpiece.]
["He's baiting you, Kairon. Prometheus wants you to move rashly, to make a miscalculation."]
Kairon's jaw set, eyes narrowing behind the cold glass of his visor. "He's using Mia to get to me. To all of us. Every move, every trap—he's studied us. He knows our weaknesses, our attachments." He remembered the silent burden of his own secrets, how one wrong move could expose everything.
[A brief silence. Sage's digital tone softened, almost human.]
["You're not alone on this board. Don't let him force your hand, Kairon. Play your own game."]
Kairon exhaled, letting the rain cool his anger, focusing on the patterns of chaos and fear below. In his mind, the city was a chessboard—streets and alleys as black and white squares, every ally and enemy a piece in play. Prometheus had sacrificed a pawn to threaten the knight, using Mia as a fork, threatening both the queen in the Arrow Cave and the king—himself—on this rooftop.
He visualized his allies: Oliver, the steadfast rook; Dinah, the queen fighting against her chains; Roy, a bishop ready to cut across the board; Curtis, the agile pawn racing for promotion. And Mia—always the knight, unpredictable, leaping past defenses, threatening more than one piece at a time.
This isn't just a fight—it's a grandmaster's duel. Prometheus is daring me to break formation, to abandon strategy for emotion. But I won't give him that satisfaction. Not tonight.
[Sage spoke again, softer.]
["You know your next move, Kairon."]
Kairon nodded, voice barely a whisper against the storm. "No more gambits. This ends tonight. Checkmate."
He vanished into the shadows, the storm and the city's chaos at his back, the game now fully underway.
***
Arrow Cave (00:50:31)
Curtis hunched over his console, fingers flying, sweat beading on his brow. He muttered calculations under his breath, a stream of complex algorithms and tech jargon, jaw clenched tight, eyes darting between a dozen screens as code scrolled by in frantic bursts. Every so often, he slammed his palm against the desk in frustration. "Signal's bouncing through at least a dozen relays," he ground out, voice taut. "But I'm narrowing it down. I promise. Just give me another minute, I'm almost there, I can feel it."
Dinah paced in tight circles, boots echoing on the concrete, the sound a constant, nervous rhythm. Her knuckles were white as she squeezed her comms earpiece, listening intently for any crackle of information. She paused now and then to glare at the timer ticking down on the main monitor, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. "He's playing with us," she spat, voice trembling with barely-contained anger and fear. "Every second we waste is another second Mia's in danger. We need a lead, Curtis, now!" She stopped, pressing her fists to her forehead, as if trying to physically will a solution into existence.
Oliver stood rigid at the weapons rack, hands trembling subtly as he loaded his bow with sharp, deliberate motions, each movement a desperate prayer. His eyes never left the screen, jaw set in grim determination. He checked his quiver twice, then once more, the polished fletching smooth beneath his thumb, as if afraid a single arrow out of place could cost Mia her life. "We don't stop," he said, his voice low and deadly, each word a vow carved in stone. "Not until we find her. Not until she's safe. Not until Prometheus pays."
Roy stalked the perimeter of the Cave, unable to stand still, his restless energy a raw wound. He yanked arrows from the rack with jerky, angry movements, his breathing ragged, a low growl rumbling in his chest. When the timer ticked down another minute, a harsh, unforgiving chime, he slammed his fist into the concrete wall again, leaving a more significant hairline crack this time. "When we do," he snarled, not looking at anyone, his voice rough with violent promise, "he's mine. I swear it. I don't care what he does to me."
Curtis's T-Spheres buzzed restlessly, circling his head like anxious fireflies, their soft glow reflecting in his strained eyes. "The signal's all over the place," he called out, voice hoarse but determined, pushing past his own exhaustion, "but I'm closing in. I'm almost past his last proxy. Just a little more time."
Oliver nodded once, eyes hard and haunted, fixed on Mia's image on the screen. He drew in a shaky breath, then forced it out, steadying himself. The weight of the world, and his family, rested on his shoulders. "Keep going," he commanded, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "We're running out of time."
***
Mia – (00:49:13)
Mia twisted against the cross, searching for weakness in the restraints. Her muscles screamed. She remembered Storm-Walker's fight, his calm precision: Always look for the flaw. Every system has one. I'm not just a pawn in his game.
She ran her thumb along the edge of the cuff, feeling for any imperfection, any tiny gap. There—a tiny groove, barely wider than a hair, where the panel met the housing. She pressed, wiggling her thumbnail, the plastic cold and unyielding, until she felt a faint give, a fraction of a millimeter. It wasn't much, but it was enough to spark a desperate hope. She pictured the way Storm-Walker had once found a pressure point in Drakon's armor, a precise, almost surgical touch, and let that memory guide her trembling fingers.
Red or blue? Two thin wires, barely visible in the dim light. She remembered a lesson from Oliver about circuitry, the dangers of misdirection. She chose blue.
A spark—brief, biting—then a soft, almost imperceptible click. The restraints loosened—just a fraction, a micro-release that allowed her wrist to rotate a hair more, but it was enough to breathe a silent prayer of hope.
The camera whirred back to her, its unblinking red eye fixing on her. She froze, feigning exhaustion, her head lolling to the side, breathing shallowly.
Prometheus's voice, distorted and amused, broke the silence. "Clever. But not clever enough, Mia. You're trying to escape the board already? Poor little knight." The mechanical hum in the room seemed to rise in pitch, a subtle, mocking warning.
A soft, insidious hiss. A sickly sweet scent filled the room, cold and cloying, clinging to her tongue, then burning her nostrils and throat. Gas. Mia coughed, a dry, ragged sound that tore at her raw throat, her eyes watering uncontrollably. The edges of her vision swam, colors bleeding into each other, a kaleidoscope of panic. Oliver… his voice, sharp and clear, echoed in her mind: "Stay focused, Mia." She forced herself to breathe shallowly, recalling Dinah's breathing techniques—slow, measured, in through her nose, out through her teeth, a mantra against the encroaching fog. The gas stung her eyes and throat, making her head swim, her thoughts sluggish and disjointed. Her muscles felt heavy, like lead. She squeezed her eyes shut, digging her nails into her palms, forcing herself to focus on her heartbeat.
Thump-thump-thump. Stay awake. Stay present. Don't let him win. Don't let him take them.
End of Chapter 19