Chapter 25: First Blood

Oliver lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The light above him had flickered into life about fifteen minutes earlier, accompanied by the piercing sound of a klaxon. Whilst the corridor outside his cell remained silent, he knew that his opportunity for rest was fast coming to an end; his first full day at Nemesis was about to begin.

He'd not slept well. Initially exhaustion had overwhelmed him, plunging him into the welcome oblivion of sleep. However, he'd woken after only three or four hours, his anxieties and fears reasserting themselves and forcing him back to consciousness. Try as he might, he had been unable to go back to sleep again, and so for hours he'd just lain on his bed, turning the events of the previous hours and days over and over in his head. It still didn't quite seem real, that his fortunes could have turned with such devastating speed. Just over a week earlier and he'd been in the Caribbean, looking forward to a life to be spent with a woman he loved more than anything else in the world. Everything had been perfect, like something from a fairytale. How different the world looked now. He'd lost his fortune, his reputation, his freedom – now he faced a fight to just survive, locked up with men who would stop at nothing to torture and kill him. But it wasn't his own safety that worried him the most; rather, it was the knowledge that his friends had also been taken by Lex. Their faces kept appearing in his head, vivid memories of smiling faces cracking jokes and laughing in happier times. He loved those guys, loved them like the brothers he'd never had, and to think of them now, alone and afraid and wholly at the mercy of Lex's perverted imagination – it was just too much to bear. He had forged them into a team and put them in harm's way, and so he could not help but feel responsible for what was happening now. He had to survive, for them – they needed him, and he was damned if he was going to abandon them, just when they needed him most.

For now, of course, there was nothing he could do. He just had to hope that somehow AC, Bart and Victor could hang on, and that Lex's twisted sense of humour meant that they were worth more to him alive than dead. Chloe and Clark were still out there, and if anyone could work out the truth, it had to be those two. To think of Chloe was even more painful than to think of what was happening to the guys. He just couldn't shake that image of her as he left the courtroom. She'd looked so utterly devastated, as if her world had just collapsed around her ears. What must she be going through now? The agony of not knowing what was going on, where he had been taken – surely that must be tearing her apart inside? He tried to console himself with the knowledge that she was strong; she was no stranger to heartache and disaster, and something inside him told him that through her pain, through her tears, her instinct to fight would eventually win through. She was Watchtower, damnit; there was an inner core of steel to Chloe Sullivan, a core that would not allow her to stand on the sidelines as the people she cared about were torn away from her. Clark was at her side, and together they would figure this out – he just knew it. But even as he consoled himself with these thoughts he remembered Lex's chilling warning, that he had plans for Chloe. What had he meant? He didn't know for sure, but one thing was clear – the net was closing in on Chloe, and fast. For all of them – the guys, Chloe, Clark, himself – time was running out.

The sound of footsteps outside caused Oliver to tense. Moments later he heard the electronic lock slide back, before the heavy steel door swung open.

"Rise and shine, leather boy!" said Galton, his body filling the doorway. "I hope you've had enough beauty sleep – the boys have heard how pretty you are, and you wouldn't want to let them down, now would you?"

Oliver said nothing, but slowly got to his feet. His heart was beating a little faster in his chest, and his senses were alert to even the slightest movement; instinctively he knew that danger was close, and already his body was preparing to face whatever the next few minutes might have in store.

"I hope you're hungry, boy," continued Galton, stepping aside and gesturing for Oliver to step out of the cell. "The food here may not up be to the standard of those swanky city restaurants you're used to, but hey – if you're a dog, you gotta expect to eat dog food, right?"

Oliver stepped into the corridor. Galton gestured for him to turn to the right, and slowly he began to walk down the long featureless passage. Galton's boots echoed on the floor behind him, mixing with the sound of voices, which grew louder and louder as they advanced further down the corridor. Turning to the right, he found himself just a few feet from the entrance to a well lit room. Two guards flanked the doorway, and beyond he could see men sitting at tables. Some were eating, others were talking; to Oliver's relief, none noticed his arrival.

Galton stepped past him, an ugly grin on his face. He was clearly looking forward to Oliver's first face to face encounter with the inmates of Nemesis, and wasn't in the mood for wasting time.

"What are you waiting for, boy?" he said, a mixture of impatience and anticipation in his voice. "You want to eat, don't you? Get in there and get your breakfast."

Oliver didn't move. He sensed a trap, but couldn't quite see a way out.

Galton stepped towards him, once again bringing his face to within inches of Oliver's ear.

"What's the matter, Green Arrow?" he whispered. "Don't tell me you're afraid! You're the tough guy hero – surely you can't be scared of these ladies? Or is that costume of yours just a big con, a mask to hide just how much of a coward you really are?"

Oliver gritted his teeth, but did not reply. He'd only encountered Galton twice, but already the man's taunts were getting under his skin. Eventually he wouldn't be able to help himself – he'd snap, and he knew that that would be all the excuse Galton needed to give him another beating.

"Now move!"

Oliver knew he had no choice. A look of grim resolution on his face, he walked forward, into the lion's den.

Faces turned as he entered the room. Almost instantly, a hush descended, countless conversations cut short by his arrival. Oliver stared straight ahead, trying his utmost to appear strong, unafraid; he could sense those countless pairs of eyes boring into him, filled with hate. For a few seconds there was complete silence, the atmosphere electric with tension. The air was filled with barely contained violence, forty to fifty men seething with rage and filled with an overwhelming urge to tear the new arrival limb from limb. It was as if someone was waiting for something to happen, some signal to release the unbearable tension...

"Well here he is, ladies," said Galton, at last stepping forward and taking control. "Our very own celebrity, Mr Oliver Queen. He's a little shy right now, so you make him feel right at home, okay?"

No one replied. Gradually men returned to their meals, and soon there was the low hum of conversations resumed.

"Queue up over there," said Galton to Oliver, pointing towards a line of men on the right. Slowly, and trying to appear as calm and controlled as possible, Oliver did as he was told, taking his position in the line. Galton walked in the opposite direction, joining one of the prisoners on the other side of the room. The two men began to talk. Oliver couldn't make the prisoner out too clearly, but he was a big man, standing well over six feet tall; tattoos covered his arms, and his head was shaven. What was striking, however, was his stare. He never once took his eyes off Oliver, even as Galton continued to talk to him. Even with a large room separating them, Oliver could feel the intensity in that stare, the cold evil that lay behind that gaze. He felt as if he knew the man, but couldn't quite place him...

The tattooed man wasn't the only one looking at Oliver. As they continued their meals the other prisoners continually glanced over at him, before carrying on with their conversations in low, menacing tones. He didn't know for sure, but Oliver knew that they were sizing him up, assessing his strength, his ability to handle himself in a fight. The atmosphere was thick with expectation, the men just waiting to see who would be first to seize an opportunity to strike...

Finally it was Oliver's turn. Watched over by a guard who stood at the counter, he picked up his tray and offered it to the prisoner who was serving out the food. The man scooped up what Oliver guessed was what passed for porridge, his lip curled in contempt as he stared at the young hero. He held it over Oliver's tray for a moment, before suddenly moving the spoon to the right and allowing its contents to fall to the floor.

Oliver looked at the food, which lay splattered across the polished tiles. Saying nothing, he held his tray out once more, deciding not to react to what was obviously a petty provocation.

"You only get one portion," sneered the man behind the counter, obviously enjoying the moment. "You wanna eat – pick it up."

The two men stared at each other. Oliver could see the pleasure in the other man's eyes. He would talk about this moment for weeks, maybe months; the moment he got one over on the Green Arrow, scored his own pathetic little victory over the once all powerful vigilante.

"I'll pass," said Oliver finally, fixing the other man with a flint-like glare. He was starving, but there was no way he was going to play this creep's little game, and go crawling around on the floor for the slop that passed for rations in this place.

He went to move on down the counter, but found his way blocked by the guard.

"Do as he says – pick it up."

Oliver opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. It was no use objecting; Galton's guards were as eager as the prisoners to rub his nose in the dirt.

"I gave you an order, boy – pick it up!"

Reluctantly, Oliver turned and slowly knelt down next to the spilt food. As the guard towered over him he began to scrape the food together with his hand, before depositing it onto his tray. He didn't need to look up to know that every eye was on him at that moment; he was the entertainment, and the act had only just begun.

The remains of the food back on his tray, Oliver stood up. He half expected some further humiliation, but he was allowed to get a mug of coffee unmolested. Mercifully, there was an empty table just a few feet from the end of the counter. He sat down, and as he began to sip at his drink he wondered if perhaps, for now at least, his tormentors had had enough of their little games.

He was wrong. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the bare wall to his left, but after about thirty seconds or so he became aware of movement off to his right. The atmosphere suddenly changed; the hum of conversation grew louder, more excited, as if the men around him sensed that something was about to happen. Oliver felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck; danger was close, very close indeed...

A huge shadow fell over the table. Oliver looked up, to find six scowling faces staring down at him. The men were huge, muscles pumped full of steroids bulging beneath t shirts that were deliberately too tight. The looks on their faces made it clear that they meant business, and that nothing was going to be allowed to get in their way.

"Get up!" ordered the man in the middle of the group, who appeared even bigger than the others.

Oliver didn't move, but instead slowly placed his mug on the table. Outwardly he appeared calm, but inside his mind was whirring, weighing up every possibility as the fight that was all but inevitable edged ever closer. The guards who had been such an obvious presence in the room just a minute or so earlier had disappeared; Galton, too, had gone, leaving the tattooed man alone by the wall, still staring intently at him. He was alone, which was exactly as Galton intended. He had clearly decided to allow the other prisoners their chance to have a crack at him, but what he didn't know was how far he would be prepared to let them go. He didn't think they'd be allowed to kill him, not yet anyway; a sadist like Galton would not want his new toy destroyed too early. But a toy could be broken, and these apes looked more than capable of doing some serious damage. They were physically strong, but almost certainly not very agile; Oliver knew that that was where he had the edge, and he would have to make that count when the time came to fight.

"I said, get up, you piece of shit!" repeated the man, his face contorted with hate.

Very deliberately, Oliver picked up his mug, before taking a sip of coffee. The entire room had fallen silent; the atmosphere was thick with expectation, everyone knowing that the moment of decision was very close now...

"Don't wanna fight, is that it, pretty boy?" sneered the man, edging a little closer. Oliver sensed movement behind him, two of the other men taking up positions for the assault which was now just seconds away. Mentally he recalculated his defensive strategy, working out how best to deal with this new line of attack.

And then it happened. There was a sudden movement to Oliver's left, a flash of steel as the leader of the group pulled a blade from beneath his t –shirt. He thrust the knife forwards with frightening speed, aiming for Oliver's chest. The man was quick, but not quick enough; Oliver grabbed the man's wrist, halting the blade just inches from his body. At the same time he threw the remains of his coffee in the man's face, the scolding hot liquid causing the thug to cry out in pain. The knife fell clattering to the floor, just as Oliver released his grip; the man staggered backwards, both hands clasped to his face.

Everything had happened in a couple of seconds, and the other men appeared momentarily paralysed by the unexpected turn of events. It was all the opportunity Oliver needed. He leapt up from his chair, pivoting 180 degrees as he did so. The momentum of his turn meant that when his fist made contact with the face of one of the men who had taken up a position behind him it sent him flying across the room, crashing into a nearby table and ending up in a heap on the floor. The second man threw a punch in his Oliver's direction, but Oliver was too quick; ducking to avoid the blow, he then drove his fist hard into the man's gut, before a second punch to his head sent him flying backwards.

So far, so good – but now the tables began to turn. Suddenly Oliver felt two sets of hands grab him by the arms. He struggled to get free, but couldn't, and as he continued to battle against the two men who held him fast a third man appeared in front of him, grinning broadly. Oliver could see the knife in his hand, poised and ready to strike...

"Hold him tight, boys!" he said, licking his lips in anticipation as he watched Oliver pull vainly against their grip. He hesitated for a moment, before thrusting the knife forwards. Just as he did so, Oliver threw himself to the left, causing himself and the two men who held him to lurch sideways. The knife cut deep into flesh, but it was not Oliver's; instead it was one of his attackers who screamed in pain as the blade embedded itself in his skin. Stunned, he let go of Oliver, before falling to his knees, blood gushing from the wound. It was all the opportunity Oliver needed; three swift punches dispatched his other captor, before a roundhouse kick sent his would-be killer flying against the far wall.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Oliver stood, defiant, amidst the wreckage the fight had created, bloodied and unconscious bodies lying broken at his feet. He was breathing heavily, but was otherwise unharmed. Adrenalin coursed through his veins; he felt almost exhilarated, the attack at last giving him an opportunity to fight back, after days of torture and abuse. He was the Green Arrow, damnit – and at that moment he felt he could take on the world.

"Who's next?" he demanded, looking at the other inmates. He could see the disappointment in their eyes, their shock at seeing six of their number taken down so easily.

"What – no one?" he continued, taking a step towards them. "Cos I'll take you all on – just try me!"

Pumped up, he almost wanted them to have a go. The fight had made him feel alive, given him a chance to be master of his own destiny, at least for a few moments. It was as if the walls of the prison, and the thousands of miles that separated him from his home, did not exist; he was the hero once more, taking out the bad guys with just his wits and his physical strength to protect him.

He glared at them for a moment, waiting for someone to take up the challenge. No one did; instead he saw their eyes move just to his left, as if something was happening behind him...

He understood too late. He felt the press of something hard against his neck, and then the crackle of electricity as a few thousand volts shot through his body. He went to speak, but no sound came; instead he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Galton stood over him, the taser still in his hand.

"Take him to the punishment block," he ordered, looking around at the human debris that lay scattered across the floor. "And get this shit cleaned up."

Two guards stepped forward. They grabbed Oliver by the arms, hauling him to his feet before dragging him away towards the exit.

"Okay, ladies – show's over!" said Galton. The men started to return to their tables, the low hum of conversation resuming once more. Galton moved across to the far wall, rejoining the man he had spoken to earlier.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked. "He's good – better than I expected."

"When do I get to have him?" asked the other man, his voice cold and expressionless. He didn't look at Galton, but continued to stare out across the room, still and unmoving.

"All in good time, all in good time," replied Galton. "My boys get to have their fun first, remember?"

"And I get to kill him, remember?" said the other man, turning towards Galton and fixing him with an ice cold stare. "That was our deal, Galton – you wouldn't be backing out on me, now would you?"

Galton seemed to wither under the other man's gaze. His uniform gave him authority, but at that moment it was the prisoner who was in control. There was fear in his eyes as he met the other man's stare; whatever hold he had over his jailer, it was hugely powerful.

"Two hours – you can have him in two hours," said Galton, tension audible in his voice.

"Two hours," repeated the other man. "Don't keep me waiting, Galton – I'm not a patient man."

He turned and began walking away. Galton sighed visibly, looking around the room to see whether anyone had observed their conversation. It didn't matter if they had; everyone knew the power that Smith wielded within Nemesis. Every guard, every inmate – they all cowered before this man. He controlled everything, his authority backed up by a tendency towards explosive violence that struck fear into even the hardest of these cons. Galton had encountered some terrifying men in his time working in the service, but none came close to Smith; there was a brutality that lurked beneath the surface of this man that was bestial, even inhuman.

And now he wanted Queen – he wanted to be the man who killed the Green Arrow.

Galton allowed himself a smile. He knew what was coming – and for Oliver Queen, it was nothing short of a hell on earth.

Looks like Ollie is in BIG trouble - but you wouldn't want it any other way, would you? It was great to allow Ollie to kick some ass in this chapter - can't you just see him taking out a gang of bad guys like this, with some amazing moves? I miss him SO much... Lots of Ollie action and angst coming up in the next chapter, plus we we will catch up on Clark and Chloe - will they come to the rescue, before Lex closes in for the kill?

Sorry for the delay in updating. Real life just keeps getting in the way, and for some reason writing is REALLY difficult at the moment - I seem to be taking twice as long to write a thousand words as I used to. Thank you all SO MUCH for being patient, and for your words of support - at the moment they are badly needed! Please, please do post a reivew if you can - to know that you guys are still out there is so incredibly important in maintaining my desire to work through this difficult writing patch!