Chapter Nine: The Challenge
The first thing Oliver was aware of as he came to was the heat. It was stifling, sucking all the air out of his surroundings and making it difficult to breathe. For a few moments he hovered in that realm which lay somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, his head pounding as he struggled to overcome the after-effects of the chloroform which had been used to knock him out. Then, suddenly, he was awake, gasping in the airless chamber that was now his prison.
Where was he? One thing was certain – he was no longer on the boat. Nor, indeed, was he still at sea – the absence of any movement confirmed that. Opening his eyes, he found that he was in a small, featureless cell. A steel door dominated one wall, whilst opposite, high up and deliberately out of reach, was a tiny window. It was not glazed, but three metal bars made any escape impossible. Listening, Oliver could hear the sound of birdsong, but nothing more. There were no cars, no planes, none of the familiar sounds of a city. Wherever he was, it was isolated – grimly, Oliver realised that there would be no witnesses to whatever they had planned for him.
His muscles aching, he rolled over onto his side. It was then that he made a startling discovery – he was naked. At some point he'd been stripped, but he had no idea when. In fact, he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. The last thing he could remember was lying on the floor of the cabin, struggling against his bonds as Bart stood over him, laughing. It was then he remembered Roy – oh, God, Roy! Oliver felt guilty that he'd been awake even a few seconds without recalling the fate of his young sidekick. Was he dead? He was certain he'd not heard the sound of a gun being fired, but if Bart had pushed him overboard….
He prayed that somehow the kid had managed to survive, that he'd found a way to cheat death yet again. Maybe he'd managed to untie himself, been picked up by a passing boat – Roy was lucky, after all. He clung to that thought, the possibility of a miracle – the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.
Suddenly a scream shattered the silence. It was a terrifying sound, the sound of a man crying out in agony as he endured some unseen torment. Oliver shuddered, a knot of fear tightening in his gut. He knew what that scream meant – it meant Slade was here, and that already he had some innocent in his clutches. Roy? No, it wasn't Roy – it didn't sound like him, and besides, Bart had made it clear that Slade had no use for the teenager. Oliver knew instinctively who was the author of that fearful sound, and it filled him with a mixture of relief and terror:
AC!
His friend was alive – AC was alive! A second scream pierced the stillness of the cell, so raw and visceral it seemed to cut right through him. What was Slade doing to him? The man was capable of anything, he knew that – it was unbearable to think of AC helpless and at his mercy. After all he'd been through, to be tortured by that monster…..
Another scream, even more nerve shredding than the last. It was too much for Oliver. Unable to stand it any longer, he pulled himself to his feet and stepped over to the door.
"Slade, it's me you want! Leave him alone, you sick fuck – leave him alone!" he shouted, banging his fist against the heavy steel with every ounce of strength he could muster. He didn't care that he was risking his own safety - at that moment all that mattered was AC, and saving him from the psychopath who now held him in his thrall.
"Open this door, damn you! Open this door!"
A few seconds later and Oliver heard a key turn in the lock. He stepped back, just as the door began to open; moments later he found himself facing Bart, a twisted grin once again on his face.
"Where's Slade? What's he doing to AC?" demanded Oliver, barely able to restrain himself.
"AC's just fine – he's been keeping Slade company while we've been waiting for you to finish your beauty sleep," sneered Bart. "Now get dressed – Slade's waiting."
He threw a bag at Oliver, who caught it instinctively. Looking inside, Oliver recognised the familiar green leather of his costume; presumably Bart must have discovered it on the boat whilst he was unconscious.
"What are you waiting for?" asked Bart. "Suit up, unless you want fish face to cry like a bitch again."
Bart's callous order left Oliver with no choice. Reluctantly, he began to pull on his costume under the teenager's watchful gaze, all too aware that he was being forced to assume the persona of his alter ego for a reason. Whatever Slade had planned, it involved the Green Arrow – not Oliver Queen.
"I gotta tell you, Ollie, we might have had the abilities, but that costume of yours – it sure kicks some ass," said Bart. Oliver didn't reply, instead trying to focus his mind on the challenge to come. Slade was a formidable opponent, probably the most formidable he'd ever faced. Not only was he physically stronger than any other human being he'd ever encountered, but he was also fiercely intelligent. It was a potentially lethal combination, and Oliver knew that if he was to save both himself and AC he would have to be alert to even the merest hint of an opportunity for escape – knowing Slade, such opportunities would be rare, if they appeared at all.
As Oliver finished donning his costume Bart took a step forward, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.
"Turn around," he ordered. Oliver did as he was told, and immediately felt his hands being grabbed and forced into the small of his back. He felt the touch of metal to his wrists, and then the cuffs were locked in place. He was a prisoner – at least for now.
"Move!" said Bart, gesturing with his gun. Oliver turned; bracing himself, he stepped out of the cell.
The corridor beyond was dimly lit, the heat even more oppressive than back in the cell. A shove to his back made it clear that Oliver was to walk forwards, and ahead of him he saw an open door. His heartbeat quickened as he approached it; he didn't know for sure what lay beyond, but he feared the worst….
What greeted him when he stepped through the doorway was like a scene plucked straight from the pages of Dante's Inferno. The paraphernalia of torture lay all around. Manacles, Knives, whips, electric stun guns, clubs – these and countless other items designed to inflict pain and misery were scattered across the floor. Oliver barely noticed them – nor, indeed, did he see the heavy steel frame, the same frame on which he been tortured by Slade five months earlier. Instead he was transfixed by what he saw just a few feet in front of him, a sight so shocking it brought a gasp of horror to his lips. AC hung upside down in the center of the room, suspended like a slab of meat in an abattoir about five feet off the ground. His feet were shackled together and chained to a hook in the ceiling, his arms tied tightly to his sides. Horrifically, the young hero was bound not with rope or chains, but with barbed wire. Strand after strand of it had been wrapped around his naked torso, slicing mercilessly into his once powerful frame. Blood oozed from dozens of wounds, but that was not the worst of it; large black burn marks also scared his chest and upper arms, the result, no doubt, of one of Slade's more sadistic torments. All this, and still AC's suffering was not complete. Oliver knew how much his friend needed water, and he had seen first-hand the devastating consequences of keeping him away from its life-giving properties for too long. Forced to endure a living death in that pod, it had been five months since AC had last taken a drink, and the effects of such a prolonged period of dehydration on the young man's body had been little short of catastrophic. He was hideously disfigured; had it not been for the spandex pants which clung to his legs, Oliver would barely have recognised him. His skin appeared shrunken, desiccated, with great flaps of it hanging grotesquely from his bones. A stranger would never have guessed that this was the body of a man in his early twenties, a man who until recently had been the embodiment of physical strength and vitality. Nothing of the old AC remained – he had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, little more than a tortured, dried-out husk.
That wasn't quite true – something of the old AC did remain. Oliver saw it in his friend's eyes, eyes which now stared at him across the room. It was the man's spirit, still blazing brightly, despite everything that he had endured. AC couldn't speak – strips of duct tape wrapped tightly around his head saw to that – but those sparkling eyes spoke volumes. An inner strength burned fiercely there, a strength born of courage and hope. It was a sight that brought a lump to Oliver's throat. Here, in this vision of hell, Arthur Curry was still alive, and still fighting.
Now it was Oliver's turn.
"And here he is – the Green Arrow, back from the dead."
Slade stepped from the shadows, a large metallic prod clasped in his right hand. The sight of him was enough to send a shiver down Oliver's spine. He and AC were big guys, but they looked like pygmies in comparison to the man who now held their fate in his hands. Slade towered over them, well over seven feet tall. He appeared to be the very personification of physical power, enormous muscles honed by hours of relentless training. But there was far more to Slade than simple strength, as Oliver knew to his cost. The man who now stood before him was possessed of a powerful intelligence, so much so that he was probably the equal to Lex Luthor. Had he chosen a different path, he would have been an exceptional recruit to the Justice League. As it was, he was certainly the most terrifying adversary that Oliver had ever had to face. To save both himself and AC, he would have to defeat this monster – how he would achieve that, he had no idea.
"The half dolphin here has been waiting for you to join us – ain't that right, fish boy?"
Slade thrust the prod into AC's chest. The young hero's body spasmed, contorted in agony as 50 000 volts of electricity crackled obscenely into his defenceless frame. Slade held the prod in place for what seemed like an age, enjoying the helplessness of his captive. Oliver moved to help his friend, but the press of a gun against his head warned him to stay still; Bart was still behind him, a willing collaborator in Slade's twisted show of strength. There was nothing he could do – Slade was in complete control.
"He would say hello, but I had to gag him," said Slade, still pressing the prod into AC's flesh. "Screams like a bitch, don't you boy?"
"Stop, damn you – you'll kill him!" said Oliver, unable to take his eyes from the terrible spectacle that was playing out in front of him.
"You think? Maybe you're right, Queen – after all, he's not as tough as the mighty Green Arrow, is he?"
Satisfied that his point was made, Slade withdrew the prod. He then grabbed AC's head, yanking it upwards by the hair so that it was level with his own.
"Fun's over, blondie. But don't worry, when I've finished playing with your boss there, I'll be back."
AC didn't respond. Slade's brutal assault had rendered him unconscious, and he showed no sign of life as his torturer let his head fall.
"You have to hand it to Luthor – when it comes to fucking up your band of freaks, he really went to town," continued Slade, placing the prod on a nearby table. "A drug to paralyse surf boy, so that he dies a slow death just inches from the water that could save him – what sort of a mind comes up with that, Queen?"
Oliver said nothing, his eyes still fixed on his stricken friend.
"But it's been good to see blondie again – I'd forgotten just how much fun it is to hurt him. Lex helped me revive him with another one of his wonderdrugs. Not too much, of course – just enough so that he can feel the pain."
He turned and stared at Oliver, a predator coldly assessing his next kill.
"And now it's your turn, leather boy," he said quietly. "Are you ready to play, Green Arrow?"
Oliver swallowed hard. Beads of sweat were running down his forehead, and his mouth suddenly felt dry with fear; what sadistic game did this animal have planned for him?
Slowly Slade walked towards him, the sound of his boots making contact with the ground like some ominous countdown. He came to a halt immediately in front of Oliver, his face just inches from his prey. The two men stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, Oliver determined to show no fear as his captor searched intently for any sign of weakness.
"You are a brave man, Queen – perhaps the bravest I've ever fought," said Slade eventually, his eyes still boring into Oliver's. "That's why I'm going to give you a chance – a chance to earn yourself and blondie a quick death."
Puzzled, a look of uncertainty flashed across Oliver's face. What did Slade mean?
"I know you think I'm just a hired killer," he continued, taking a step back. "But I have a code – a set of rules. You've earned your chance."
"Cut the crap, Slade," replied Oliver, relieved that there was no trace of the fear he felt inside in his words. "What the hell do you want?"
Slade smiled. "What do I want? I want to hunt you, Mr Queen – I want to hunt you down and kill you."
There was silence for a moment, the meaning of Slade's words hanging heavy in the air. Oliver understood everything now. Why he was still alive, why he'd been made to put on his costume, why he was being forced to watch his friend being tortured – it was all terrifyingly clear. He was to be a pawn in one of Slade's twisted games – a game which everything said he couldn't win.
"I live for a challenge," he continued, calmly making his way back towards the table. "That's why I agreed to take down you and your boys. It wasn't for Luthor's money – money doesn't interest me. What interests me is the hunt, the kill – and what could be better than hunting down the all-powerful Justice League? I have to tell you, it was good – netting your friend here especially." He paused, glancing at AC before turning and fixing Oliver with a cold, dispassionate stare. "You, however, were a disappointment – there's no satisfaction in snaring a target that's wounded, unable to fight. I wanted to defeat the real Green Arrow – not his shadow." Again he paused, his mouth curling into a half smile. "But everything's different now, isn't it? You're back to your prime, the great hero, ready to save his friends and defeat the evil villain! How hard you must have trained these last few months, preparing yourself for your battle with Lex. And it's worked – the way you took out Luthor's hit squad is proof of that. Now you are the adversary I was hoping for – truly, a worthy opponent. So are you ready, Mr Queen? Are you ready to accept my challenge - Deathstroke versus the Green Arrow, to the death?"
The gauntlet thrown down, Slade awaited Oliver's response; both men knew that there could be only one answer.
"Do I have a choice? If I refuse, you'll kill us both."
"Oh, you will both die whatever happens – that I guarantee," replied Slade, his eyes flashing with excitement. "But if you accept my challenge I give you my word that fish boy won't suffer. Refuse, and he dies slowly – and you'll watch every minute."
Oliver was trapped - he had no option but to accept Slade's challenge. All he could hope for was that at some point the other man would make a mistake – either that, or a quick death.
"Take off his cuffs," ordered Slade, not bothering to wait for Oliver's reply. Bart quickly removed them, before grabbing Oliver by the hair and yanking his head back.
"Don't think you're gonna get out of this," he whispered, his mouth just an inch or so from Oliver's ear. "Slade's gonna fuck you up, Oliver – he's gonna fuck you up so bad!"
"The archer needs his weapon – wouldn't be a fair fight otherwise," said Slade, apparently oblivious to Bart's words of warning. He picked up a bow and threw it at Oliver, who caught it instinctively.
"Impressive – good to see your reflexes are back to their best," observed Slade, before picking up three arrows and slowly walking over to where Oliver stood. "I'll give you three shots, Queen – three shots to take me down."
He held out the arrows. Oliver hesitated for a moment, half expecting some sort of trick, then reached out and took them.
Slade made his way over to a door. He opened it, sunlight flooding in from the world beyond.
"You have five minutes," he said, stepping to one side and leaving the way open. "A five minute head start – then I come for you."
Oliver didn't move. The bow in his hand reassured him, but still he felt a terrible sense of foreboding. He had no idea what lay beyond the door; all he did know was that he was trapped, and that Slade was the sort of man who left nothing to chance. Inside a voice was screaming at him, telling him that if he stepped through that door it would be the beginning of the end….
"Run," hissed Bart, thrusting the gun into the small of Oliver's back. "Run, you fucking piece of shit!"
"The clock's ticking, Queen," said Slade, pulling out a gun and aiming it at AC. "Perhaps if I put a bullet in your friend's leg…"
Alright!" snapped Oliver, his features fixed in a look of grim determination. "I'll do it, okay? I'll play your game – just leave AC alone, yeah?"
"A deal's a deal – you have my word."
Oliver took a last look at his helpless friend, and then made his way to the door. As he reached it Slade held out his arm, barring his way.
"Remember, Queen, three shots – three shots, and then you're mine!"
Oliver did not reply, instead keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead as he waited to be allowed to pass. Slade withdrew his arm, and then he was gone.
Will Ollie survive? Can he save AC? Is Roy still alive? What's happened to Clark and Chloe? Lots more twists and turns to come, I promise - and some shocks, too!
Hope you enjoyed this one - Slade's a great villain, and it's fun writing evil Bart. The next couple of chapters are going to be action packed, and I'll try to post them as soon as I can. Thanks for reading, and a massive thanks to all my reviewers - please do leave some feedback if you can, as it is always amazing to hear what you guys think!
