Chapter 13: Corporate Dive
The Queen Consolidated tower pierced the dawn sky, its glass facade gleaming like a blade, reflecting the city's restless pulse in fractured shards of light. Luke stood across the street, the early morning air sharp with the acrid tang of exhaust and the faint buzz of traffic, horns blaring in the distance like a discordant symphony. His sneakers, scuffed and gritty with city dust, shifted on the cracked pavement, his jacket's zipper catching as he tugged it closed, a faint coffee stain on the cuff a reminder of a hurried sip in the van. He fished a piece of gum from his pocket, the wrapper crinkling, its minty snap a fleeting anchor against the dread coiling in his chest. His reflection in a nearby shop window was a ghost—pale, shadowed eyes, hair mussed by the wind. Isabel's funding Slade's chaos, and this tower's her vault. Time to play corporate ninja. His fingers twitched, brushing his cracked phone, its dim screen a small weight in his hand, grounding him as he eyed the tower's mirrored expanse.
The System flared, its interface a cool pulse in his mind, steadying his racing thoughts like a beacon in fog.
[SYSTEM: DAILY ROLL ACTIVATED: ROCKET GADGETEER (FACE 4)]
[SYSTEM: POWER ACTIVATED: INGENUITY/CRAFTING. STAMINA DRAIN: MODERATE]
Luke ducked behind a parked delivery van, its chipped paint flaking under his palms, the metal cold and slick with morning dew. His utility belt clinked softly as he pulled out salvaged electronics—a tangle of wires, a microchip, a tiny battery humming faintly. His fingers moved with practiced precision, assembling a listening bug no bigger than a grain of sand, its signal primed to tap Isabel's private server. Small enough to ghost past security, sneaky enough to make a spy movie jealous. He grinned, the gum snapping loudly, a defiant tic against the city's hum, his heart thudding with the thrill of the gamble.
"Felicity, meet my latest toy," he murmured into his comms, his voice low, the static crackling like a distant storm. "It's quiet, tiny, and probably breaks every espionage law on the books."
Felicity's voice buzzed back, laced with nervous humor. "Luke, you're giving me gray hairs. Plant it and don't get nabbed."
He slipped into spectral form, the world fading to grayscale, the transition a cold shiver through his bones, like plunging into icy water. His awareness drifted through the tower's air vents, the metallic chill of the ducts pressing against his ghostly form, the faint hum of machinery vibrating in the dark. He navigated the maze of conduits, his focus a taut wire, the air thick with the buzz of cooling fans and the sharp bite of ozone. The server room was a sterile vault, its blinking lights a constellation of secrets, the cold air stinging his spectral senses. Placing the bug on a rack, its surface warm with energy, drained him, his form flickering as he fought to hold steady, his stamina burning like a candle in a storm.
[SYSTEM: INFILTRATE SUCCESSFUL. BUG PLACED.]
[SYSTEM: MASTERY UPDATE: SPECTRAL INFILTRATION +12%]
[SYSTEM: SOUL POINTS DRAIN: -5 SP (COMPLEX MANEUVER).]
As he withdrew, his awareness brushed a dark, psychic energy coiling around Isabel's inner circle—a cold, alien presence that whispered of alliances beyond Slade, hinting at a multiversal web pulling strings he couldn't yet see. Isabel's a pawn, and Slade's not the only chessmaster. His spectral form shuddered, the weight of the discovery pressing against his chest, his breath hitching as he snapped back to his body, gasping, the gum stuck to his teeth, the wrapper crinkling as he clenched his fist.
Back in the Foundry, the air was thick with the bitter scent of burnt coffee, undercut by the hum of monitors casting flickering shadows across the concrete walls. Luke slumped into a chair, its metal frame creaking, his sneakers kicking a stray bolt across the floor, its clink echoing in the quiet. Moira and Thea sat in the makeshift kitchen, a small table cluttered with chipped mugs, the faint aroma of chamomile tea mingling with the bunker's musty chill. Moira's hands trembled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup, her eyes heavy with guilt, the lines around them etched deeper by confession. Thea, her hair in a messy bun, picked at a muffin, crumbs scattering like tiny apologies, her expression a storm of heartbreak and resolve.
Luke's empathy pulsed, catching the fragile hope in the room, his voice soft but steady, his gum snapping faintly. "Moira, you don't have to carry Starling's sins alone. Oliver needs his family fighting with him, not just for him."
Moira's gaze met his, glistening, her voice barely above a whisper. "I kept so much from them, Luke. Malcolm Merlyn… I thought I was shielding them."
Thea's hand froze, crumbs falling, her voice sharp, cracking like glass. "Shielding us? By lying, Mom? All this time?"
Luke leaned forward, his chair creaking, his fingers brushing the table's edge, its wood rough. "Truth's a mess, Thea, but it's the only way to rebuild. You're stronger than the secrets."
The lights flickered, a violent buzz erupting from the comms, static crackling like a warning shot. Luke's heart lurched, his hand darting to his belt, the metal cool against his palm. Someone's listening. Damn it. He surged to his feet, conjuring a dense Mandala of Light, its orange glow enveloping the kitchen, the air crackling with energy, shielding their words like a fortress.
[SYSTEM: MAGIC SECURES.]
[SYSTEM: POWER ACTIVATED: MYSTIC ARTS. STAMINA DRAIN: HIGH.]
[SYSTEM: STAT UPDATE: INTELLIGENCE +3 (CRISIS COMMUNICATION).]
"Oliver! We've got eavesdroppers. They heard too much," Luke shouted, his voice echoing in the sealed space, his pulse racing like a drum.
Oliver and Diggle burst in, their boots heavy on the concrete, Oliver's green leather creaking, his bow drawn, Diggle's gun steady, his eyes scanning the shadows. The attackers were mercenaries, not League, their gear high-tech, targeting the Foundry's power grid with surgical precision. Luke, his stamina fraying like worn thread, launched through the ceiling with Falcon Flight, the night air sharp with rain and rust, the alley above a maze of shadows.
[SYSTEM: FALCON FLIGHT ACTIVATED. STAMINA DRAIN: MODERATE]
[SYSTEM: FLIGHT PURSUES.]
On a nearby rooftop, two mercenaries crouched, their disabling rifles aimed at the power main, their silhouettes stark against the city's neon glow. Luke's fingers fumbled a handful of ball bearings, their cold weight grounding him as he channeled Hawkeye's precision, his gum snapping loudly.
[SYSTEM: ARCHERY DISARMS.]
[SYSTEM: POWER ACTIVATED: UNERRING AIM. STAMINA DRAIN: MODERATE]
The bearings flew, striking the mercenaries' hands and rifles with pinpoint force, their yelps sharp as their weapons clattered to the rooftop. One bolted, his boots pounding, his breath visible in the cold. Luke swooped, snagging his collar, the fabric tearing as he hoisted him skyward, dropping him into Diggle's waiting grip below, the mercenary's curses muffled by the wind.
[SYSTEM: SABOTAGE COUNTER SUCCESSFUL. +25 EP.]
Luke landed, his breath ragged, leaning against a brick wall, its rough surface cold against his back, his gum snapping as he caught his breath. The mercenary's gear bore Isabel's insignia, confirming her role as Slade's bankroll. She's fueling his vendetta, and they're closing in on the Queens. His fingers brushed the candy wrapper, its crinkle a small comfort, his mind racing. Slade's next hit will be personal. I need to sweep the mansion before it's a repeat of the gala bloodbath.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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