On screens across Star City, families huddled, faces pale, watching the nightmare unfold. A child whispered, "Why isn't anyone helping her?" The city's hope was bleeding out in real time. For thirty-five excruciating minutes, they watched it drip away, a grim countdown glaring from the chest of one of their heroes.
***
Arrow Cave
In the Arrow Cave, Curtis screamed Speedy's name as the green vapor began to coil around her, her screams of agony transforming into something far more chilling—a primal, terrified shriek echoing with unseen horrors. The city's screens split: on one side, Speedy's torment; on the other, the Arrow team's faces—Oliver's jaw clenched, Dinah's tears, Roy's knuckles white on the table. A news anchor's voice, barely steady, narrated: "Star City's heroes, powerless to intervene." The city's hope flickered, then dimmed.
***
Mia's mind
Her mind fractured beneath the toxin, a kaleidoscope of impossible, slithering shadows writhing behind her eyes. Voices—her own, twisted—hissed her failures: "You're not fast enough. You'll never save them." Every blink brought new horrors: Oliver's corpse, Dinah's scream, the city burning, her hands stained with blood she couldn't wash away. The world narrowed to pain and dread, the timer's red glare pulsing like a heartbeat she couldn't control.
***
High above the city, the Storm-Walker moved. As he neared the facility, the metallic tang in the air grew stronger—a warning, a signature. Prometheus's influence was everywhere, woven into the very walls. Guided by Sage's precise readouts, Storm-Walker was a ghost within the industrial complex. His Storm's Shroud suit shifted, chameleon weave adapting to the grimy concrete and rusted steel, rendering him nearly invisible. His footsteps were devoured by the Silence of the Shadow enchantment, leaving no sound, no trace. Every vent, every conduit, every shadow was a pathway, and Storm-Walker exploited them all with Featherfall Grace, Surefoot Tread finding impossible purchase on slick pipes and sheer walls.
***
Cameras hidden throughout the facility by Prometheus swiveled, trying to track the impossible blur. On every screen in Star City, a new anomaly appeared: a subtle distortion in the camera feed, a ripple in the air that wasn't quite static, then a clear image of a masked figure, swift and silent.
Public Reaction:
A collective murmur rippled through the city. "Storm-Walker!" "He's here!" Hope, thin but tenacious, began to flicker in the eyes of the terrified citizens. Some cheered, others watched in fearful awe—was he their salvation, or a new storm to fear? On public screens, Storm-Walker's movements blurred, the feed pixelating with each impossible burst of speed. For some, he was a flash of red lightning; for others, a rumor made real.
Arrow Cave Reaction:
In the Arrow Cave, Oliver watched, a grim, grudging respect settling in.
"He's not fighting those traps—he's dismantling them. He's always three moves ahead. These weren't made for him."
Dinah's eyes narrowed as she studied the screen, her voice low and thoughtful.
"He's not like us, and he never will be. Sometimes I wonder if he's an ally, or something else entirely—something we don't fully understand yet."
Roy just shook his head in disbelief.
Curtis, fingers flying, muttered, "City's going to be talking about this for weeks. He's not a rumor anymore. He's the storm."
***
As Storm-Walker stepped fully into the camera's view, his masked form stark against the industrial backdrop, Prometheus's distorted voice slithered from hidden speakers, thick with chilling familiarity.
"Storm-Walker. The wild card. I remember Keystone's underground—your little brawl with Empress. You're unpredictable, but you're still just another piece on my board. You seek the thrill of battle, I seek the destruction of hope. We both enjoy the game, don't we? Lives, cities, even ourselves—pawns to something greater. Call it entropy, call it fate, call it the truth that order is a lie. I planned this place for Green Arrow and his flock. Not for you. I wanted despair, a message. But you, Storm-Walker… you weren't supposed to care. So tell me—why are you here? Don't tell me you came to save her."
Storm-Walker's lips curled in a faint, almost private smile. Wild card. He'd been called worse—and he'd played the role before. Sometimes, unpredictability was the only way to survive.
"You seem to have formed your own conclusions. Wild card, huh? I'll keep the name—thanks for that." He stepped forward, tone playful but edged with steel. "You didn't expect me? And you think I don't care? You wound me. Though, you're not entirely wrong about the 'not the reason' part. Always so perceptive, aren't we?"
His gaze sharpened, a faint crimson spiral appearing in the depths of his eye, the golden ring around it gaining a subtle luster. His voice dropped to a razor's edge. "My presence here isn't dictated by your expectations or your understanding of my motivations. As for 'caring,' that's a subjective term. My actions are driven by purpose—a resolve to achieve a certain outcome."
He let the silence stretch, then added, "You're not entirely wrong, of course. My appearance here wasn't born from a sudden swell of sentimentality. Emotions are… inefficient, wouldn't you agree? And frankly, quite tiresome." A glint of mischief flickered in his eyes. "Sometimes, things need to be put back in their proper place. And sometimes, it's just more fun to stir the pot. Consider this a 'proactive measure' against future boredom. Or maybe I just wanted to see the look on your face when I showed up. Priceless, by the way."
He took another step, voice low and dangerous: "It's true, I like battle. Maybe we are alike. But the difference between you and me? When we stare into the abyss… you blinked."
"You think you know, but you've only scratched the surface," Storm-Walker added, his words cutting through the air. Without another word, he surged forward—not at Prometheus, but at the control console dominating the far wall—his attack as unpredictable as his motives, the true wild card Prometheus could never fully control.
***
As Storm-Walker stepped forward, the air seemed to tighten. Even before the lightning, a faint hum built around him—an energy that made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up. His eyes, visible behind the mask, sharpened with a predatory focus, the playful edge gone, replaced by something cold and relentless.
Crimson eyes intensified, the golden ring around them flaring as red lightning began to crackle around him, warping the air. The transparent, shimmering heat haze around him intensified into an electric storm. He activated his combat state, "Lightning Overdrive."
Prometheus's Automated Countermeasure Systems whirred to life, designed to neutralize the Arrow team. Swirling gas jets meant to disorient Dinah's sonic cry filled the chamber, but Storm-Walker's Genjutsu Analysis and Predator Instincts pierced the illusion, revealing it as a disorienting mist. Automated turrets, armed with T-Spheres disruptors, spun to target him. He moved with inhuman precision, a blur of motion.
His Gale Serpent Twinblades materialized, their three-pronged designs gleaming. He didn't just attack; he flowed with Storm Pulse Flow, his movements mimicking the unpredictable grace of a tempest. He deflected the energy bursts with fluid sweeps of his blades, his Tempest Edge Form turning their own force against them. A net launcher, designed to ensnare Arsenal, sprung, but Storm-Walker's enhanced senses alerted him nanoseconds before it fired, allowing him to Windstride Speed through the narrow gap.
He was untouchable—a living storm, fluid and uncontainable. The traps, meticulously designed for the Arrow team's distinct skill sets, offered little more than minor spatial challenges to Storm-Walker's truly wild and unpredictable abilities.
***
On the city screens, feeds struggled to keep up, showing flashes of red lightning, impossible speeds, and then the utter dismantling of the high-tech defenses. "He's… he's amazing!" a child's voice could be heard on one public feed. Amazement mixed with a growing sense of awe and fear—was he their savior, or a new storm to fear?
He reached the console in a flash, his movements honed by Supreme Body Control. With swift, practiced motions, his blades struck with silent, deadly force, severing conduits, bypassing firewalls, and overloading processors. Sparks flew as the torture machinery whirred to a grinding halt, the fear toxin vents hissing into silence.
Speedy's body slumped, no longer convulsing, though still twitching from the after-effects. On screen, the terrible machinery ground to a halt, a collective sigh of relief sweeping through Star City.
He then moved to Speedy, quickly disengaging the restraints, the metal groaning as he tore them free. She collapsed into his arms, still shuddering, her eyes wide with lingering terror, lost in the toxin's embrace. Her arm hung at an unnatural angle. He held her in a bridal carry, her weight almost imperceptible to his enhanced strength, a mix of profound embarrassment and profound relief washing over her even in her fractured state.
***
As he turned to leave, Prometheus's voice filled the chamber again, almost a sigh, devoid of anger. But now, as Storm-Walker turned, the primary monitor behind the control console flared to life, not with Speedy's image, but a chilling blueprint. Holographic schematics shimmered into existence around it: dozens of pulsating devices spread across a map of Star City, each one marked with a symbol Storm-Walker didn't recognize, but whose purpose he instantly intuited.
"Take her, Storm-Walker," Prometheus's voice echoed, now laced with triumphant finality. "She served her purpose. The despair has been sown. And now, the true message begins. You came to save her, and by doing so, you've ensured my endgame. This isn't just about pain, Storm-Walker. It's about consequence. Every choice has a cost. And sometimes, the very act of saving a piece… completes the game for the King."
The broadcast cut to static—abrupt, jarring. The city froze, the sudden silence louder than the screams that had filled the night.
***
Across Star City, a collective breath was held. Relief swept through the crowds—Speedy was alive, rescued by the Storm-Walker. Some cheered, hugging strangers or weeping openly, hope flickering in their eyes for the first time all night. Others watched in stunned silence, unsettled by the display of power and the cryptic warning Prometheus had left behind.
On street corners and in living rooms, whispers spread:
"Storm-Walker did it. He saved her."
"But at what cost?"
"What did Prometheus mean—'completes the game'?"
No one felt truly safe. The city's gratitude was laced with a new, uneasy fear.
***
Aftermath (Private Safe House)
Storm-Walker landed silently on a distant rooftop, Speedy still cradled in his arms. He found a secure, abandoned penthouse he'd prepared beforehand—a safe house equipped with his stolen and reverse-engineered medical tech. He gently laid Speedy onto a makeshift operating table, her broken body and traumatized mind demanding immediate, expert attention. Her skin was a map of bruises, a faint green tinge still visible around her temples where the fear toxin had coiled. Her breathing was ragged, shallow, a testament to the brutal ordeal.
"Sage," Storm-Walker commanded, his voice firm, a subtle urgency underlying his calm. "Initiate full medical diagnostic and prepare surgical protocols. Stabilize her vitals. Override all pain receptors for now. Begin immediate counter-agent synthesis for the fear toxin. Her injuries... they are extensive. And Sage… scan her thoroughly. For anything. Anything at all."
[Sage's voice was calm, efficient, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
"Vitals critical but holding. Injuries confirmed: compound fractures, deep lacerations, severe muscle trauma. Fear toxin saturation 85%. Counter-agent synthesis initiated. Estimated time to stabilize: 37 minutes. Commencing comprehensive bio-scan… Anomaly detected. Sub-dermal implant. Highly advanced, non-metallic, designed to mimic neural tissue. It is dormant, but its energy signature matches the primary activation node for the network displayed by Prometheus. Its current state is 'armed, awaiting external stimulus.'"]
Storm-Walker's eyes, normally so unreadable, widened fractionally. He stared at Mia's unconscious form, then at Sage's analytical display. Prometheus hadn't just allowed the rescue; he had orchestrated it. The torture, the broadcast, Storm-Walker's intervention—all just elaborate chess moves to ensure Speedy, the unwitting catalyst, returned to the heroes, completing Prometheus's terrifying circuit.
He allowed me to save her because her 'rescue' was the final switch, Storm-Walker realized, his jaw clenching. He had walked right into the heart of the trap, and in his attempt to save one life, he had inadvertently brought the doomsday trigger back to the heroes.
***
Team Arrow Arrives:
Storm-Walker completed the last sutures on Speedy's arm. Her vitals were stable, her breathing even. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his face grim.
Just as he finished, the familiar thrum of a high-tech quinjet announced Team Arrow's arrival. Oliver, Dinah, Roy, and Curtis burst into the penthouse, their faces a mixture of relief and burning anger.
Dinah stumbled forward, collapsing onto her knees beside Speedy, tears streaming down her face as she gently took her hand. She saw the still-visible purple bruising around Speedy's wrists and ankles, the stark white bandages covering her arm, and the faint, lingering shadow of fear in her unconscious features. A raw, guttural cry of anguish and rage tore from Dinah's throat, quickly replaced by a fierce, burning resolve.
"Mia…" Oliver choked out, rushing to her side, relief warring with the sight of her condition. "What happened? How is she?"
Storm-Walker stood, silent for a moment, then met Oliver's gaze. "Her physical injuries are severe but stable. The fear toxin has been neutralized, but the psychological trauma will remain." He activated a holographic projector on the operating table. The same chilling blueprint from Prometheus's lair shimmered into existence: dozens of pulsating devices spread across a map of Star City.
"These are teleportation devices," Storm-Walker stated, his voice flat, his gaze sweeping over the horrified faces of the team. "Designed to displace Star City to another dimension. My analysis indicates they are immune to conventional disarming, protected by countermeasures against high-level meta-human and alien interference—Kryptonian cells, traces of Green Lantern energy signatures… Prometheus isn't just targeting Star City. He wants to prove that even the League can't stop him—that no power on Earth can."
He then pointed a gloved finger at a specific, barely visible anomaly on Speedy's forearm on the holographic display. "And this. A sub-dermal implant. Highly advanced. It is dormant, but its energy signature matches the primary activation node for the entire network."
Dinah gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. Roy swore under his breath. Curtis's eyes darted between Speedy and the horrifying schematics.
"Prometheus allowed her rescue because this implant, activated by her removal from his facility, is the trigger," Storm-Walker continued, his words landing like hammer blows. "Her continued life, her stable vitals, are broadcasting the 'all clear' signal, keeping the bomb network active and ready."
Silence fell like a shroud in the penthouse, broken only by the hum of the medical equipment and the rapid, terrified breathing of the heroes. Oliver's face drained of all color, his eyes fixed on Speedy's still form. He tried to speak, but only a ragged gasp escaped. His hand trembled, knuckles white as he gripped the table for support. Dinah's sob broke the silence, raw and unfiltered. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with the impossible weight of Storm-Walker's ultimatum.
"To disable the network, to even halt the countdown… Speedy's bio-signature, specifically that implant, must be neutralized. It is the key," Storm-Walker delivered the final, agonizing blow. "There are only two options, Oliver. One: we find a way to remove or deactivate it without harming her. My preliminary assessment gives that a 0.03% chance of success given the current parameters and our limited time."
He paused, letting the impossible odds sink in. "Or two: the implant is removed… or destroyed. And with it, the biological host."
Storm-Walker's gaze was unblinking, unyielding, demanding an answer. "The city lives, or Mia dies. The choice is yours, Green Arrow. The fate of Star City… rests in your hands."
The holographic display of Star City, riddled with the ominous bomb markers, hung in the air between them, the crushing weight of the decision bearing down on Oliver and his team. The private silence of the safe house was infinitely louder than any public scream.
End of Chapter 21: