There's this weird thing that happens when you've been tortured more times than you can recall. It starts to feel good. It becomes the only thing that lets you know you're alive. It's been well over a year since my country stopped looking for me. No one comes for me. I'm confined to my hell. My days are spent holding on to memories of my love, who most likely perished in the blaze that claimed my unit. I hold her in my mind in a desperate attempt to hold onto my sanity. My nights are spent being beaten, stabbed, shot, strangled, drowned, and any other violent act you can think of. My hell doesn't let you know day and night. It gives you just enough food and water to keep you alive. It took away time and light is a privilege. My hell is a five by five cell. There are no windows and one metal door. I sleep on the cold concrete floor and piss/shit in a hole in the corner of the room. When 'night' comes, so do they. The first few months, I tried to fight them. It quickly realized that it only made them angrier. Now, when they come for me, I think of her. My Felicity. I channel her grace and serenity and wrap it around me like an armor. If she's out there, she needs me alive. I know, wishful thinking, but I can't survive this thinking she's dead. If that's true, what reason do I have to fight it?
I don't know who my captors are or what they want from me. The only thing they ever say is "Are you ready now?", in shitty arabic. The kind of arabic that tells me these people are not from Kandahar. They always ask and I always so no. Ready for what? That's the question that keeps me awake.
Tonight I find myself in, what I call, the 'light room'. It's the only time I ever get real light. Okay, not real light. But when you spend hours in darkness any kind of light is real light.
The sound of the metal door scraping against the cement floor pierced my ears like a dagger causing me to flinch on instinct.
I heard the sound of boots approaching me and braced myself for what was to come.
"Mr. Queen." a voice I'd never heard asked.
I raised my eyes to see a man standing in front of me. He wore all black clothing and had multiple knives on his person. When I looked to where his face should be, I startled at his face. Not that he was disfigured or anything like that, he just didn't hide it.
His skin was tanned and he wore a suit, a nice one. His hair was neatly groomed and his face clean shaven. He looked like a politician or some shit. What was someone like him doing here?
"You're have got to be the toughest son of a bitch I've ever recruited." He commended with a smirk.
I get why he's here now. His smirk says it all. But his eyes tell me he gets off on this; torture and pain.
"I don't recall having a choice." I retorted.
I thought my need to sass assholes had died. If it did, this son of a bitch gave it a new life.
"And that was my fault. I assumed you were like the others. That if I pushed you far enough, cut you just right, that you'd break. The others did and continue to. After a while, I wanted to see what could break you. Then it hit me. You were already broken, long before you arrived here."
Was he right? He couldn't be right.
"Nice theory." I mumbled.
"It's not a theory at all, Mr. Queen. I did my research on you." He began his inevitable monologue. I felt my chest tighten when he pulled my dog tags from his pocket, as though my heart was craving my old life. I tried my best not to react.
"You joined the Navy after your mother died. After basic training you were assigned to a mixed infantry unit in the Marines made up of sergeants. You trained with them and became one of the best damn scout snipers they'd ever seen. You were lucky enough, or unlucky, to fall in love with the woman who was your spotter. You and your unit served two tours in Iraq and when the last one was over you signed up again. It was supposed to be simple missions, like protection and training, so your unit signed up too. I guess they couldn't live with the idea of letting one of their own go to battle alone. Then you get blown up but those ISIL douchebags, take shrapnel to the leg and still manage to fight and kill two of the four of them. Now, here you are. You've spent two years here being tortured in every way imaginable and the whole time thinking that your unit is dead. That your….Felicity was dead."
I looked back up to meet his eyes. They are dead. She is dead. I know it, in my heart I know it. I pretend she isn't in my mind, usually when I'm in the darkness. But if she was alive she would have found me by now.
"She's not dead, Oliver. She's home. So are John Diggle and Rene Ramirez. Roy Harper died in that explosion, as you know but the others….they're home."
He's full of shit. He's just trying to get in you head, I told myself.
"No, you're lying."
"I thought you might say that." He replied with a smile.
He pulled a manila folder from the table in the corner of the room. The table usually held various instruments of torture but not tonight. He spread papers around the table and walked back towards me. I braced myself, out of instinct, I guess. He grabbed the back of the chair I was in and drug it to the table.
"Look." He ordered.
I did. There were various pictures of the three people that meant the most to me in this world. Rene, coming out of bars and walking down the streets of various cities. Diggle, his new military photo after his promotion and photos from his wedding. And then there was Felicity, walking into the Rose Cafe, walking into our home and the one that made me want for him to kill me. Felicity and some guy, that I've decided is a dick, holding hands walking out of a restaurant.
"Not only are they alive but they left you here. They know you're alive and they just….don't care. Why wouldn't you be broken?"
If they're alive, maybe it was them that attacked the compound, I'm assuming it's a compound. But looking at these pictures why would they? Felicity has clearly moved on. John has everything he'd wanted. Is he right?
"So, we're going to skip all this shit and I'm going to say 'fuck the standard protocol'." He announced with a level of excitement I didn't expect. What the hell is the standard protocol and why are we fucking it?
"I don't understand." Honesty was the only option I had cause this asshole is not making any sense.
He pulled out a pocket knife and flipped it open and when he started walking towards me, I braced. Was his way of 'fucking the standard protocol' killing me?
I felt the cold metal against my wrist and took a breath and when the sound of the ties binding my wrist snapping reached my ears and my arms fell to my sides, I released it.
What the hell is he doing? Is this the part where we fight to the death or is he letting me go? It has to the first one.
"You're free to go, Mr Queen." He replied looking me square in the eyes.
"Why?" Again, honesty was my only option, "How do you know I'm not just going to kill you?"
"Because, you're going to need me. And if my instincts are right, it'll be sooner rather than later. Go home. There's no way you'll be able to reenlist after all this. So, when these people that you fought for and spent two years in hell for, reject you; I'll be here."
"They're my family." I replied.
"You're family left you here. Your country left you here. And when you get home, you won't be able to find work, you'll see that your so called family can't love you if there's no war, and you'll miss the fighting, the killing. They'll call you insane, a monster, a killer. All because of the skills you were taught to keep them all safe."
"Why let me go?" I need to know before I make for the exit. It'll haunt me if this is real.
"Because, I could never break you enough to work with me, you've made that clear. But them, they'll break you in a matter of months. You'll see. And when they do, I'll be here. I'll never abandon you. All the things you find that hate, are exactly why are I need you here. I can change this world for the better but I need your help to do it."
My heart clenched in my chest at his word. He's right, no one in this world could break me like Felicity Smoak. The question now is, will she?
"How do I know this isn't just some trap where you shot me as soon as I walk out?" I asked.
"You don't. I'm trusting that you'll come back when the time is right. So, I guess you'll have to trust that I didn't invest two years in you just to shoot you in the back." He reasoned.
I stood there, dumbfounded, and watched while he walked out the door. The door didn't have a chance to close before it opened again and he reappeared. In his hand, he held a duffle bag.
"Take this." He ordered tossing it to the floor in front of me.
I reached down and did as he said. It was heavier than I'd anticipated. I gave him a weary look to which he replied with, "It has some clothes and things you'll need in order to get home, passport and such. You'll also find a burner phone. It can only call out to me, no one else. You'll leave it on at all times and carry it with you."
"If I don't?" I asked.
"Then I'll find you, bring you back here and kill Felicity on my way out the door."
"When you're ready to come back, press the speed dial number one."
It sounded simple enough. My mind is spinning from all this. The new information. The shock of being set free. The fear that it was all a trap. It had to be a trap. But what choice to I have but to play it all out?
"Got it?" He asked.
"I think so."
"Then let me walk you out."
He lead me out the door and down a series of long hallways before we reached a door with a sign that read exit. I stood there staring at the door like I'd forgotten how they work. I'd spent hours, days probably, sitting in total darkness and remembering freedom. Yet, here it was, within my reach and I'm frozen. I remember the idea of freedom but the feeling….I'd lost that long ago.
The sound of metal startled me again as the door was flung open and the bright light of day came flooding in. I wondered if the sound of metal would ever not startle me.
I turned to him before leaving as a important question entered my mind, "What if I don't call? What if they don't break or reject me? What happens if 'fucking standard protocol' fucks you?"
"Then I get fucked. And I lose what would have been my best and most loyal fighter. You're free to go. But remember, I'm watching." He warned before turning and walking back down the hall.
I watched until his form vanished from sight. I pulled my duffel on to my shoulder and turned back towards my freedom and walked through the door.
I hadn't expected it but this whole time, I'd been in America. Center City to be exact. This whole time I'd been less than 600 miles from home. I'd found a shitty motel that sold rooms by the hour and didn't ask any questions. The thing I wanted to do the most was shower. It'd been so long since I showered. For the past two years, the best I got in the way of showering was a bucket of water and a bar of soap. I missed the feeling of hot water soothing tired muscles.
Now, I find myself in front of a mirror. It's strange. The most I'd seen of myself in years had been a glimpse of a reflection from water. But I never gave it much thought, I guess because those moments were followed by or proceeding a long period of torture. Now, standing here, staring at myself….all I can think is one word; unrecognizable. My once toned muscles have gone soft. My frame is much thinner than it used to be. My body was riddled with scars and fresh wounds. My buzz cut and stubble have grown out into an uncontrollable mess. I look like a castaway or some shit. The one place I dared not look were the eyes. I knew they'd changed too much. If I saw what was reflected back there then I'm damn sure I'd never call Felicity like I'm supposed to.
I walked over to the bed in the shitty motel room I'd rented. I stared at the phone. I knew her number by heart. I should be dialing it but something is stopping me. Would she want to see me? Would she answer? When I tell her it's me, will she hang up? We'll she'll break me before I even make it a whole day of freedom?
There's only one way to find out. I picked up the phone and dialed her number. It rang for what felt like ages until I heard it; her voice.
"Hello?"
I'd forgotten what she sounded like.
"Hello?" She asked again, drawing out the syllables and sounding like home.
Home. She was home. She was safe. I did it. I distracted them and saved her. She's safe. But she won't be if I'm with her.
"Hello!" She called. I could tell she was getting annoyed.
It's now or never. Answer her and let the chips fall where they may or….I don't even know what the other option is.
"Are you gonna talk or are you just gonna sit there with your dick in your mouth?" She inquired and my heart stopped.
This was the beginning of a game we played when Felicity called me out on something, usually to break the ice after a fight.
I couldn't help myself, "I don't make it a habit of putting dicks in my mouth, Felicity." I answered.
"Only on special occasions then?" She answered instantly.
There was a slight pause before I heard her inhale sharply.
"Oliver?" She asked so quietly I thought I might have imagined it.
"It's me."