Merlyn stood over Oliver, who lay sprawled across the floor, struggling to breathe. Without hesitation, Merlyn took a gun from one of his soldiers, raised it, and aimed directly at Oliver's chest.
He knew exactly who he was looking at, Oliver Queen, the son of an old friend. That history meant nothing now. Oliver had crossed a line, and Merlyn valued power and results far more than sentiment.
Oliver glared back at him, pain etched across his face, his breathing ragged but his hatred unmistakable. Merlyn's expression hardened. He pulled the trigger.
The shot never landed.
Glass shattered as a figure burst through the window. Dressed in a black and yellow combat suit with a tactical mask concealing his face, the intruder moved with precision. Gunfire erupted instantly, bullets tearing through the room.
The soldiers barely had time to react. Several dropped before they could even raise their weapons. The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed as chaos swallowed the room.
Merlyn rolled backward, narrowly avoiding the incoming fire. The remaining soldiers recovered quickly and returned fire, but the intruder had already closed the distance.
He launched forward, striking the nearest soldier with a powerful kick that sent the man crashing into the others. In one smooth motion, he pulled a smoke grenade from his belt and threw it to the ground.
Smoke flooded the room.
Using the cover, the masked man grabbed Oliver and sprinted toward the shattered window. Without slowing, he leaped out, gripping a rope suspended outside the building.
They descended rapidly.
Once on the ground, he hauled Oliver onto a waiting motorcycle. The engine roared to life, and within seconds, they sped away into the night.
Inside the building, Merlyn pushed himself up, ignoring the smoke and fallen men around him. He strode to the window and looked down.
The motorcycle was already disappearing into the distance.
His fists clenched.
"Bastard."
"Should we notify the President?" one of his bodyguards asked.
"No," Merlyn replied immediately. His voice was cold, controlled. "I'll handle this myself."
His gaze remained fixed on the empty street below.
"The so-called guardians of this city… the modern Robin Hood."
His eyes burned with intent.
"I'll bury him."
---
The motorcycle came to a stop outside an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Star City.
Oliver slid off, unsteady but conscious. His wounds had stopped bleeding, but every movement sent pain through his body.
He looked at the man who had saved him.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Why save me?"
There was something familiar about him, something Oliver couldn't place.
A distorted voice came from beneath the helmet.
"You really don't remember, Oliver Queen."
The man reached up and removed his mask.
Oliver froze.
"Slade…?"
Standing before him was Slade Wilson, known as Deathstroke.
A mercenary enhanced beyond normal human limits, Slade possessed strength, speed, and reflexes far beyond any ordinary man. His mind was just as dangerous, a master strategist capable of dismantling opponents before they even realized the fight had begun.
He was ruthless, calculating, and entirely unpredictable.
"Surprised?" Slade asked flatly. "Or surprised I didn't put a bullet in your head instead?"
Oliver steadied himself, forcing down the shock.
"Why are you here?"
Their history on the island had been anything but friendly. If anything, Slade should have been the last person to help him.
Slade shrugged slightly.
"Honestly, I'd prefer to break your spine and leave you in a wheelchair," he said. "But someone wants you alive."
His tone sharpened.
"Consider yourself lucky."
Oliver let out a dry laugh despite the pain.
"Yeah. Lucky."
Before either of them could continue, footsteps echoed through the factory.
Oliver turned.
A small group approached. At the front stood a man with blue-tinted skin, composed and confident. Beside him was a younger man in a dark suit with a mask.
"Oliver Queen," the blue-skinned man said, his voice calm. "We've heard a lot about you."
Oliver frowned.
"Who are you?"
"Captain Atom."
He gestured to the man beside him.
"This is Nightwing."
Oliver's eyes narrowed.
"What do you want?"
Captain Atom stepped closer.
"We're forming a team. People with abilities, skills, and experience. You're one of the individuals we've chosen."
Oliver shook his head.
"If this is recruitment, save your breath. I'm not interested."
He turned, forcing himself to move despite the pain.
Captain Atom's voice stopped him.
"Even if it involves Laurel?"
Oliver froze.
He turned back sharply.
"What did you say?"
"She's alive," Captain Atom said. "But she's being held. Along with others."
Oliver's jaw tightened.
"Where?"
"Under Homelander's control."
Silence fell.
"I'm in," Oliver said immediately.
The decision came without hesitation.
"When do we move?"
"Not yet," Captain Atom replied. "First, we meet someone."
"Who?"
"General Swanwick."
---
In Metropolis, Adrian drove through the city streets, the noise of traffic fading as he approached his destination.
He parked outside a cathedral in the lower district.
The structure stood tall, its yellow stone walls etched with simple patterns. Arched windows lined the sides, stained glass casting soft colors across the interior.
Adrian stepped inside.
The air was quiet, filled with the sound of a choir. Sunlight filtered through the glass, bathing the space in a calm glow.
Rachel sat near the front, listening.
She wore a light coat over a red sweater, her hair tied back simply. There was nothing outwardly unusual about her, no trace of the darker power she carried.
Adrian took a seat behind her without speaking.
For a while, neither of them moved.
"Why did you come here?" Rachel asked quietly.
"You told me you liked it here," Adrian replied.
Her voice trembled.
"You've known… haven't you?"
"Known what?"
She turned slightly, tears forming.
"That we're not really family. That you and Clark aren't human. And I'm the only one Mom gave birth to."
Adrian paused.
"It doesn't change anything," he said.
Rachel shook her head.
"Then why hide it? Was it because of me?"
She turned fully now, tears running down her face.
"Because I'm different?"
Adrian leaned forward, placing his hands on her shoulders.
"You're not a monster," he said firmly. "Not even close."
He met her eyes.
"You're my sister. That doesn't change."
Her voice softened.
"Even if I lose control?"
"It won't matter."
He pulled her into a hug, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"Nothing changes that."
---
In another part of the city, Clark approached a small apartment building, carrying a gift.
He intended to check on Amy.
Inside, however, things had already taken a turn.
Amy opened her door to find her landlord, Del, standing outside.
He greeted her with a forced smile.
She knew why he was there.
The rent.
After a brief exchange, Del's patience wore thin. His tone shifted, growing sharper as he demanded payment.
Amy tried to stall, buying time she didn't have.
Then his expression changed.
He looked her over in a way that made her skin crawl.
"There are other ways to settle this," he said.
Amy's expression hardened.
"I'm not that kind of person," she replied.
Del stepped forward, pushing his way inside.
He swung at her.
Amy reacted instantly, striking him first. He went down hard, clutching his face.
"You should leave," she warned.
But Del didn't back off.
Then suddenly, everything changed.
His body stiffened.
He froze mid-motion, trembling violently. His breathing became erratic, then stopped entirely.
Amy stepped back, confused.
"What's wrong with you?"
Del collapsed, his body contorting unnaturally. His face turned red, then purple, as he struggled to breathe.
Panic set in.
Amy grabbed her phone and called for help, giving the address as quickly as she could.
Behind her, Del's body went still.
A faint, disturbing sound came from his throat before it stopped completely.
Amy's stomach churned.
She stumbled into the bathroom and vomited.
Her hands shook.
"Did I just kill someone?"