Slipping into the gym's shadows, he waited and watched as his misfit soccer team began slowly streaming in, some came in pairs, some came alone to join the others that were hanging out, everyone waiting for their probation officer to show up. He was a bit antsy, almost nervous, which he knew it was ridiculous to let 20 teenagers shake him up after everything he had survived, but he still found himself pulling her hair tie from its permanent place in his pocket, and he began rolling it between his fingers, while he concentrated on his breathing.

Oliver had asked the probation officer, Ned Walker, to schedule this meeting, so he could do some last minute recon on the team before actually meeting them face to face. And in order to do that, he needed to see their true selves.

Silently, clinging to the shadows, in a hoodie, he had observed most of them outside of school during the last week. He pretty much knew what each of them did after school. Several of them played basketball, others video games. Still others, hung out with other gang members on street corners. Several of them were doing drugs and drinking, and one them, Phil, who had just entered the gym, rather staggered in, was doing a lot of drinking. He watched as Phil made it to the gym's bleachers and flopped down, and he and knew it wasn't soda in that bottle, he was carrying even if the liquid was dark. No, it was 3:30 p.m. and Phil was already pretty lit. He and Phil were going to have a serious talk really soon, an Arrow kind of talk.

Five of them were kids raising kids, the oldest or middle child, but they were each responsible for the other siblings after school. Three of them, Russell Collins, David Lopes, and Marcus Wright were very intense about feeding their brothers and sisters, about homework and about putting them to bed. He was sure none of them wanted the others on this team to know much about their home life. And two of the five, Juan Rodizio and Josh Peters were terrible make shift parents and just let the other siblings fend for themselves.

Josh had really disappointed him. He had lost both his parents to a single engine plane wreck and had been displaced along with his 13-year-old sister and his 9-year-old brother and as the oldest he should have stepped up when they landed in a new state, a new life, with their single aunt. But no Josh had not just done drugs, he had gotten busted and caused more problems for his aunt. He wondered if he should just call child protective services himself, but who knew if foster care was better, and the aunt was the town's library director, so for now he was staying out of it. The kids being neglected were almost teens themselves, and if they had survived the last year, who was he to judge?

Yea, all these kids had their own problems, some were just worse than others.

Eight of them worked after school, and he thought that unlike Nick, the other seven where not working to support their family's, no they were working probably to support their phones or their habits, be it drugs, cigarettes or alcohol.

Two of them had single mothers that worked long hours and let them figure out what to do with themselves, probably hence the trouble they were now in. Three were being raised by their fathers only, eight lived with their grandmother and other siblings. Six lived in a blended household with step parents and other steps.

Yes, his team was a melting pot of people, and he wasn't sure he was ready for this coaching job, but he was going to try. But he did know that Felicity was proud of him and had stuffed his head full of all those facts that he couldn't always match to the right kid.

And now, he already had an idea who was going to give him real problems, and who he was going to lay down the law to.

Yes, he had checked his team out. He didn't like to go into any situation blind, when he could have an edge. And today, as he stood in the gym shadows, he just want to get the feel of them as a group, to see who their leader was, see who they picked on, to see if they had any chance of working together as a team, before he actually introduced himself.

Twenty young men in all shapes and sizes made up his team, some of them maybe could run. Several of them were really going to struggle. He knew that eight of them smoked cigarettes, a habit they were about to give up if they wanted to breathe. A couple of them were not going to make it, but he was still going to make them play, still make them run. And all of them were going to really hate him in the next few weeks, for he was going to run them into the ground, and he knew he could out run each and everyone of them.

As he watched, some of the teens sat the bleachers and some were more nervous, for they moved around, paced and he knew that the smokers were probably wishing they could smoke. Phil was laid prone on the bleachers, probably passed out, he thought. But most of them played on their phones. It seemed an extension of their hands. It reminded him of Felicity, who was never far from her phone, and a slight smile lit his face. Okay, it was good to note that their phones were important to them. He could use that against them to make them run, to make them work, and to make them play.

The probation officer, Ned, entered the gym, and he noted the ones that came to attention, and the ones that didn't. Those would be the troublemakers, and he noted seven of the nineteen who just plainly ignored the only authority figure in the room. Their body language said clearly, "Screw you."

Yes, I see you, he thought, as he ticked off their names in his head.

Just then Scott, the rich kid with the nice car, walked in, playing on his phone, his attitude clear.

"You're late," Ned bit the words out.

"Super bee needed washed," Scott said with a shrug. His tone disrespectful.

"Sit down and shut your smart mouth, or I'll be watching you picking up trash, this Saturday, on the side of the road, starting before 7 a.m."

"It'd be better than playing soccer," said someone from the crowd, who got a laugh, and a small smile, even from him.

Oliver could see that the chips were stacked against him here, as he pocketed her hair tie and pulled out his phone. Swiping the screen, he silently tapped his way to call Ned.

The probation officer answered his phone and Oliver hung up. But, as they had discussed, Ned continued the conversation, then he said to the group, "I've got to take this call. But I'll be back, so you all stay put! And I mean it about trash detail this weekend, for anyone that wants to give me grief."

Ned hadn't shut the door when Lucas got up and said, in Spanish, "This is bullshit. Making us come to special meeting over the new coach. What was his name?"

"English, dumb ass. I don't speak Spanish," said Russell.

Alonzo Garcia, big kid, weighing over 200, looked up from his phone and said, "Then learn, dumb ass. And since you're such a dumb ass, he asked what the new coach's name is."

"You can kiss my dumb ass, Alonzo. And I don't care what his name is?" Russell said. "I'm just doing my time. I got an alert on my phone, and I showed up. But I hope he hurry's the hell up. I've got stuff to do."

And he knew that stuff was taking care of his siblings after school, and Russell needed to go home. Hmm, the babysitting thing was going to be problem for several of his team. He was going to have to come up with a solution for that problem, since practice was going to be at at 3:15 p.m. sharp, Monday through Friday.

"Well the new coach's name is gay. Queen was what I heard," Alonzo said.

He had never thought of his name as gay, but he was very sure he didn't like his name referred to like that.

"Who cares what his damn name is. I am not playing fucking soccer," said Josh Peters.

Lucas said, "Oh, shut up Callie. No body cares what you think, surfer boy."

"Don't call me that."

"I"ll call you what I want. You're from California and it suits you, surfer boy."

Lucas reached to ruffle Josh's hair, and Josh pushed him away with the words, "Don't touch me. Maybe, you're the one that's gay." Several of the teens laughed, and Josh clenched his fists and eyed Lucas.

And Oliver sighed and shook his head, as he recognized the anger in Josh, the black rage radiating off his tall blonde form, and he so understood. Josh's last year had been hard. He had lost both parents and his entire life. Maybe this one he could help, maybe playing soccer could be an outlet for Josh and some of the other's rage. And yes, a lot of his team were very, very angry. Heaven help him, he knew exercise helped keep his rage in check.

Adrian Herron added, "Well, we'll just see how long this one lasts. The last one didn't last did he? I still can't believe that damn judge is going to make me do this shit. Soccer, who wants to play soccer? It's a stupid game. A total waste of my time. And practice is going to mess up my job the super center."

Stan Markton stood, all 5'6 of him and said, "Oh, quit whining, Adrian. You're a cart pusher at the super store. It's the super store, they'll change your schedule. The real problem here is that this guy is no Coach Webb. No, he's a big rich guy. But he's got a sexy, smoking hot, blonde on his arm. Now, I'd like to get in her panties." The gestures Stan made had the teens laughing and his blood boiling.

Yeah, that little act put Stan on Oliver's hit list. How dare they talk about HIS woman like that? Though Stan was right, Felicity was smoking hot, and if a man would have just said that about her, he would be beating him up right now.

But he forced himself to stay put, as they talked about HIS woman. He would get that point across right off, the fact that she was HIS woman, and they wouldn't be disrespecting her or any other woman. He'd run them to death if he caught them even thinking about touching her, disrespecting her. But he would also ask Felicity to wear pants around these young men, so he wouldn't end up hurting one of them.

He remembered what it was like when you're were young, and another smile crept on his face, as he thought that was so his life right now. Both him and her were just like a couple of horny teenagers, only he had a lot more staying power now then when he was young, well at least some of the time. But, oh, yes, he was always so ready to have her, but unlike most of the teens in the gym, he had a great sex life, and Felicity loved to make out. He still didn't know how he had gotten so lucky, for he, so, didn't deserve it.

Head in the game, Oliver, he told himself. So, he forced himself to listen.

"How would you know?" Josh demanded.

"Da? I bus tables at Anderson's Family Restaurant, and they have been in a couple of times. He tips good too. He's got a frecking convertible Porsche and bad ass motorcycle too. Not a Harley, but something else. It's got a funny name."

"Yea, they're renting the old Anderson place, not but the week but by the month. So, he's got money." Scott interjected quietly. Without looking up from his phone, he added, "They were pasting through, until his girlfriend drowned and got sick. Makes sense now. Dr. Mae Franks was her Dr. who's married to Judge Franks, the very judge that sentenced us all to play this stupid game."

Well, it would seem Scott had done his recon on him too. Oliver didn't like that Scott knew where he lived and had just told everyone else, and he didn't like the young man's tone, or that he knew so much about them, so he would go back and reread Scott's file. Then it clicked, Scott mom was in real estate. Felicity had taken care of the house rental, so he didn't know who their agent was, but it was possible it was Scott's mom. Regardless, the house they were staying in was too open, to hard to protect, he should set up better security. His team was far from happy that they were being forced to play this game.

"Yeah, she's that stupid tourist that got in the riptide and drowned a couple months ago," said Jordan Sims, and Oliver took in the big holes in his ears and ink on his arms. And he remember that this teen had abandoned his 1 year old daughter, and he was struggling to like anything about him and calling Felicity stupid wasn't helping, at the moment.

"Right, I so remember him. He's the guy with all the scars and has the abs from hell that saved her. Everyone was talking about him for weeks. How, he fought the riptide. How, strong he is. How he did CPR on her and got her breathing again. Yeah, I remember hearing about him now. We are so screwed." Nick Mitchell threw his hands up in the air.

"He was big talk at the hospital, for weeks, and he pretty well lived there until she got well. And the guy is really tough, Special Forces or something. He's not going to go down easy, not like the last one," said Russell Collins, as he pocketed his phone and crossed his arms in front of his small chest.

Several of them were nodding their heads, agreeing.

But Juan Rodizio said, "Just because your mom works housekeeping at the hospital doesn't mean you know all about him. Your mom's a dumb crack head anyway."

"My mom ain't done crack in years. So, you watch your fucking mouth." And Russell pushed Juan, who shoved him back, and Russell was suddenly in Juan's face, Russell's hand fisted and his other hand had a handful of Juan's shirt. And although, both of the young men were pretty evenly matched, both of them about 5'7, Russell had the stance of a fighter, and he had a feeling Russell would come out on top if they fought.

But, Tyler, the one with the pregnant girlfriend, Mindy, stepped between them, pushing them apart with the words, "Fight on your own time. You two idiots are going to get us all in trouble. The man will be right back. And you two get me trash detail, and cost me my paycheck this Saturday, I'm going to stomp both of your asses. And I'm sure I'm not the only one."

Point for Tyler, for he was the voice of reason, and the two young men glared hard at each other, but they stepped back.

Tyler said darkly, "And yes, it looks like we are stuck with playing soccer, since I know the new coach, named Oliver Queen, took Jared frecking badass Reed out, who was high on meth, with a coffee pot. A freaking coffee pot! And he was quick about it. Jared didn't have a chance. My cousin was in the ER when it happened. Jared got the cop's gun and Queen took him out in nothing flat. My cousin said, after Queen slammed Jared's head to the floor three times, then he stood up and straightened his jacket, like he was James freaking Bond or something. Just like in the movies,"

"Bull shit," said Juan.

"Not bull shit. Ask around, I'm telling you the guy IS Special Forces or something. So I'm for not crossing him. I have three months' probation left, and I just want to get it over with." The look he gave the crowd was hard, as he said, "So nobody better screw that up, cause I'm not going to jail for anyone. I'll kick the fucking ball. And the rest of you better suck it up too. The season isn't that long, and we will have this part of probation behind us."

Good choice, Tyler, thought Oliver. It looked like Tyler was their leader. He could work with that. And wow, the things these kids knew about him, the next thing he would hear was how Felicity and he had gotten busted making out at the spot. He really hoped Jeff had kept that one to himself, and then he wondered what was with him and hoping lately? He knew hoping was worthless, but lately he kept finding himself doing it.

"Okay, be a pussy. Me, I'm not listening to the dick. I don't care what kind of car he drives or how hot his girlfriend is," said Jordan, as he shook his head making his large disks in his ears jiggle and he thought, no one was wearing jewelry when they practiced or played.

And he marked Jordan as a troublemaker, though it wasn't like he didn't know that already. Jordan was a repeat offender, everything from running away to breaking and entering, truancy, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct, and public drunk, three offenses. Jordan was a piece of work at only 16. And he needed new shoes. He would never be able to run in those shoes. Now that was another problem.

How many of them had running shoes? What about uniforms? He sighed.

And just think he had volunteered for this.

"Na, they're getting married," Adrian said. "My Aunt said the new coach brought his girlfriend one of the most expensive rings, the super center had. They picked it out together so now they're engaged."

He smiled again, realizing they didn't know what expensive was. And then he frowned because Felicity hadn't take his grandmother's ring. But, okay, he understood that he wasn't listening to her, and he was making decisions for both of them, and if she thought the ring was too much then it was. He had returned it to Thea, so the ring could go back in the vault. And Felicity had agreed to wear it for special occasions and that would honor his grandparents' love. He liked that idea.

Yes, they had picked out her ring together, a new ring for the two of them starting a new life, and a new love together. Then he smiled slightly thinking that no, his love for her wasn't new. She had amused him from the first time he laid eyes on her, and he had really loved her for a really long time, and all that mattered was that she was his. And he loved that the gossip said she was officially taken.

"Enough," said Scott, lifting his head from his phone, "For now, we go to practice and in a little bit, I'll get rid of him, just like I did the other one. Fuck them all. I'm not playing soccer. I've got better things to do. And like Tyler said, the season's not that long, and they will never find a replacement that will stay, I'll make sure of that. Now shut up, here comes the man."

Awe, there he was, Scott was their leader. He had to admit he was surprised it was Scott, and he would have preferred it to be Tyler.

He had known he hadn't liked Scott. But now Tyler, maybe he could work with him, he liked that Tyler had told the team to pretty much suck it up. And Adrian, maybe that kid wasn't so bad after all, for he was the first one to call him "coach" without making the word sound like a ugly four letter word.

And just think first practice was tomorrow, and he sighed.

#####OQ#####

Returning home to an empty house, he knew Felicity was probably at the hospital, so he dropped his keys and his phone on the table, grabbed an apple and picked up his team's files. Stepping out on the porch, he sat in the lounge chair and starting hunting Adrian's file, while listening to the sound of the gulf.

There he was. And he read "Adrian Michael Herron."

And his mind suddenly wouldn't focus.

Hands were pulling him, dragging him out of the small cage. Hedeon's voice came and went. He hadn't cut him yet, but he knew he was going to pass out before the blade ever touched his punished, now mangled, starting to rot, flesh. His chest was infected now, and he was burning up with fever and barely managing to stay conscious.

Something strong was passed under his nose, waking him. And he could smell the blood, which meant Hedeon had cut him, and he had blissfully not felt it. Two men were holding him upright now, for he had lost the ability to hold himself up. He was defeated. He was going to die down here underground, and he couldn't even go down fighting, not unless he wanted to end up back in the cage.

No, he couldn't do the cage, he couldn't go back into the small cage, even now his muscles still felt seized up, his muscles cramping, he wasn't unsure if he could attack. The cage had restricted his body from stretching for out so long, restricted him from moving almost completely for so many days, that he wasn't sure if his body would obey him, so he forced himself not to reach for Hedeon's throat.

"There that's better. Can't have you missing the fun. Scream for me, Oliver."

And Hedeon stabbed him in the chest, stabbed his poor abused flesh, and he twisted the blade. And he had to scream for him, couldn't hold back the screams anymore.

His mind was telling him that he deserved this. He had tortured General Shrieve, and now he was getting his just reward.

His actions had caused this. It was his fault.

His brain was shutting down. Time had become surreal. Somewhere, he could hear himself screaming, but he wasn't really present anymore, but he knew that this had to stop.

Hedeon stabbed his chest, and he threw himself forward, intending on taking out his lung, and the man gasped and pulled back, with the words, "Fool, be careful you'll make me nick your lung."

He rallied what little strength he had left to say, "Then this will be over. I'll drown in my own blood. Stab me! Finish this!"

Hedeon hesitated, fingering the knife. Oliver met his eyes knowing his back and front were bloody red, knowing that his pants were soaked in his own blood. The black rage flowed black through him, as he screamed at him, "Go ahead, I dare you. I'm bleeding out, away." He hissed, "Do it. Finish it. I'll help you."

Turning, Hedeon and picked something up from a table in the shadows and came back and said, "Again you're the smart one. Never has a man lunged toward the blade. Hmm." Then he threw what felt like acid on his chest.

"Not, acid, alcohol, Oliver. Your chest is infected. And if you die, you'll cheat me out of the money I paid for you." He moved in close and grabbed him by the hair of his head, leaning in, as he said, "And you're still going to fight for me, aren't you? Say the words, Oliver. You're going to fight for me. You are going to win for me."

He was barely remaining on his knees and if wasn't for the two men holding him upright, he would be on the floor. Cold numbed him now, pushing away the heat of the fever, and he shook, trembled. He was so cold, his teeth chattering, as he used his hands to hold on to the men, to stay somewhat upright.

The room was tilting, and he realized that the alcohol had sent him straight into shock, but he forced himself to say the words. "I'm going to fight for you." And he looked the man straight in his gray eyes, as he vowed to him, "And I'm going to KILL YOU, and I'll be quick next time. Kill me now. It will save your life."

And Hedeon laughed. Then said, "Threaten to kill me. Now that's rich. I knew you were smart but you keep surprising me, Oliver. You're trying to get me to put you out of your misery. Hmm . . . Tempting, but no, not this time."

He ran the blade across his chest sharply one last time, then said, "Clean him up. Tell Michael, twelve stitches for the chest wound and for him to make them small. I want them hard to take out. And keep him awake. He needs to experience this, not sleep through it, and, so help me, if he dies, you'll all take his place."

Reaching out, Hedeon grabbed his hair again, and then leaned in and said, "Oliver, you're a first. I put you in a cage for two days until you beg me to cut you, then you attack me, and then you survive the curare, then three more days in the cage and you have repeatedly threatened to kill me. That is so amusing. You're the best one I've had in years." And he laughed, as he walked away.

He couldn't hold his head up, but he spat the words, "It's a promise. I am going to kill you, Hedeon."

And the floor came up to greet him.

#####OQ#####

"Do you know your blood type?" A man was demanding of him.

"O," he managed to say though he was almost unconscious.

"Crap, it figures. He's bleeding out, and I don't have a match. Isn't that just my luck?"

"Just, let me die."

"Drink, you're dehydrated. No, stay awake. Drink."

He knocked the cup out of the man's hand, repeatedly. But the man kept trying to get him to drink the water.

Waking to extreme pain and an IV in his arm, he reached and pulled it out. "I need to die, this time just let me die."

"No, damn it. Get him," the man was yelling, keeping him awake. "Oh, hell, he's yanked his IV out, and it was hard enough to put it, as dehydrated, as he is. This one has a death wish."

With smelling salts, through most of the stitches, the men kept him awake. Agony, he was in pure, hateful total pain, excruciating agony that felt like a huge dragon was shredding his chest, clawing him with sharp talons, as it sat heavily, breathing fire into his chest. Vaguely, he knew his back hurt, but his chest was a ball of pure, aching, total raging, fire.

He was done with living. What did he have to live for? His father's book was back on the island, along with Laurel's picture, and he was in hell and his chest was living proof of it.

"Kill me," he begged them. And this time he fought them and it took more hands then he could count to put him down, to hold him down.

"Just kill me. No, more. Stop, trying to help me! Just, let me go. Let me bleed out. It won't take long now."

The man's voice was familiar, as he heard him say, "Get him, hold him down. He's ripping his stitches out. Man, he's strong, for what he just went through. Hold him down."

"God, he stinks."

"Well, of course, he stinks. He's spent five total days in the cage. How long did you make it?"

Another voice said with disgust, "Barely, one? Come on, help me strip him."

But, no, they wouldn't let him die or sleep. They just kept waking him up, no matter how much he fought them.

"Hell, he's pulled his IV out again. Get his arms, someone get me some rope. He's opened his stitches up again. Damn it, Ivan, don't just stand there, come and help me. Restrain him. Get his other arm. Stop him."

The hands had him, restraining him and he couldn't fight them off, for he was too weak.

But he heard them.

"Want me to wake him up, again?"

"Hell, no, I've got to re-stitch his mess of a chest, as it is. Just let him be."

"But Hedeon said to keep him awake."

"I don't care what Hedeon said right now. So don't tell him. He is going to bleed out, if we keep him awake. NOW, get his arm, he's trying to take out his stitches, again. Damn it, restrain him. Watch it, he's after the IV."

And he slipped back into the dark world of blackness and nightmares, and Hedeon and his knife were living there now too.

One of the same faces kept reappearing when he would surface from the terror that was his sleep. A man he had seen before, but it was too hard to think because his chest was an inferno, a firestorm of pain. After a time, he realized it was the man who had come to him when he was in the cage, the man that had warned him.

A warning he hadn't heeded.

"Damn you," he said returning to consciousness, and the same man was trying to get him to take a pill, fighting him, as he spit the pill out.

"I'm already damned. So, stop fighting me. Do you want him to cut me? Take the damn pill."

"NO."

He turned his head and tested the ropes that bound him to the bed.

"NO, to what? No, to not cutting me or no to the pill? Come on, help me here. Hedeon has sent antibiotics for you. Your chest is infected, and he wants you to live."

"He's the only one."

His voice lowered. "Oliver, why did you fight him? I went to all that trouble. I endangered myself to warn you and then you don't listen. Didn't I tell you not to fight him? The men told me that you didn't scream when he cut your back right out of the cage. Not screaming just makes him hurt you worse. And then you threatened to kill him and you attacked him, and what did it get you?"

"No where but here."

"That's not true. Fighting him got you a round with the curare, and three more days in the cage. Well great job, Oliver, for now he has made a genuine mess out of your chest and it's infected. And I don't know if you have noticed, but this isn't a hospital. There are no pain killers here. You're damn lucky to have antibiotics, so just take the pill, or do I have to call for help and shove it down your stupid throat again."

"I'm going to kill you later."

He laughed then said, "Me? Why?"

"Because you won't let me die."

Then man laughed again, a small sharp laugh and said, "Okay, you do that. I've been tired of living for a long time. But you have to get well first. Now take the damn pill."

And it was the same man. The man, who kept his hands tied, when he was out of his mind with fever. The same man who had them hold him down when his fever spiked and the infection raged in his chest, and he became strong enough to break the ropes. It was the same man, who hollered for help when they had to fight him again, as he ripped at his stitches and the IV, trying to end his life.

It was this man who cleaned his wounds and made him scream. He was the man, who forced him to drink water, forced him to take the pills and forced him to sip the broth because he was too weak to do anything else but what the man wanted. And he was the man who cleaned him up, and who mopped his forehead and his body as the fever raged. And he was the man who heard, as he ranted about the island, about Laurel and Sara, about the boat and Shado and Slade, and China, and he was the man who stayed with him until he could think again.

Weak, he was so very weak, when he finally came back to himself. And it was that same man that said, "Be still, your chest is still bleeding," when the man noted he was finally awake.

"How long?"

His throat was dry. His hands were tied at the wrists to the bed frame. Trying to move, he found his legs were also restrained. And he knew he had fought them, repeatedly.

"Six days."

"Cool. I guess I didn't die this time."

"It wasn't for lack of trying on your part. And from what you said while you had fever it is for sure not the first time." The man said dryly. "Here do you want a drink?"

"Well, if you would just stop helping me, I could still die this time. Life sucks you know?"

The man lifted his head for him and helped him take a sip of water before he said, "Oh, I know but too late, you're getting better. And I can't stop helping you, or Hedeon will cut me. You may not remember, but this is ground we have already covered, repeatedly."

"Please, if you would just stop helping me."

"Shh, you need to rest. And since you don't remember, I'll tell you again. If you die, he'll cut me, instead of you. And he'll make me fight, and I suck at it, so I'll get beat up too. And I don't like getting beat up, and I don't like him to cut me. Been there done that, so, like it or not, you're going to survive this. Here, drink. Take the pill."

"I don't want to." Even to his own ears, he sounded like a spoiled child.

"I don't care, take the pill or I will get help and, again, you may not remember, but we WILL shove it down your stupid throat because he has cut every one of us. And yes, I know, it sucks to be you."

Since, his wrists and legs were tied, and he was so weak, he couldn't lift his head, so he did what the man wanted.

And then he passed out.

The next thing he knew, Hedeon, himself, was leaning over him.

Inwardly, he cringed.

"I heard you were awake. You are the survivor aren't you? I thought sure you'd die." Hedeon ripped the bandage from his chest, and he watched the man inspect his gory handiwork.

Pure hatred for this man, was radiating out of him, black rage, pure bitterness was choking him, filling him, as he glared up at the man and got his first good look at his chest, at the puckered, red hot flesh that was stitched jaggedly together in large black stitches over his rib cage. He wished for his strength, but it was all he could do to lay here and take painful breaths, while his heart raced. Never had he been so helpless, as he waited for Hedeon to hurt him again.

He didn't know if he could scream for him this time. No, he didn't think he had the energy, but he couldn't stop the words, "You're a dead man for what have done to my chest and my back."

Hedeon chuckled and said, "Again with your threats?"

"Not threats. Promises."

And Hedeon laughed outright.

But the man, who wouldn't let him die, said, "Ignore him. He's still running fever, probably out of his head," and the look he gave him told him, he clearly thought he was. "But, I think he's just turned the corner, though, I'm still trying to get the chest wound to close up. So you should leave him alone for now."

"I'll do what I want, and I specifically told you small stitches." He was fingering his knife, and Oliver could see he was thinking about opening him up again, and he had to work to keep his express blank, to not show his mounting fear or his complete rage.

Testing, the ropes that held him to the bed, he found himself sadly lacking.

Yes, he was helpless, tied to the bed, and there was nothing he could do to stop Hedeon if he cut him. How his life sucked. Why did this just keep happening to him?

And a small voice in his head said, because you deserve it. Evil begets evil.

The man said, "Well, you left me a pretty large hole to work with, so it was impossible to make the stitches small and still close up the gap. The wound's still infected and oozing. Do you want him to die? The dead ones don't scream very loud, as you would know."

"I'd watch my mouth if I were you," Hedeon said in a sinister tone, as he fingered his knife and frowned down at him.

If only he wasn't so weak, he would break his bonds and quickly snap Hedeon's neck. He knew he could take him, he had already proven that point to the man. And he bet Hedeon wouldn't be here without guards, if he wasn't weak and tied to the bed. But he was so weak that one touch to his chest wound and the fight would be over. And he would get to find out if he could scream again, but still he challenged him, hoped he would finish him, as he said, "Go ahead and bring it. Do your worst."

"Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's saying."

The man's smile was so sweet, it sickened him, as he said, "Oh, I think Oliver knows exactly what he's saying. You're trying to get me to kill you aren't you, Oliver? Did you know he leaned into the knife, trying to deflate a lung, then bragged that he would drown in his own blood?"

"I'll do it too."

"Look, don't listen to him. He's still pretty much in and out most of the time. Running fever still, and I don't think, even you could keep him conscious, if you go at him again. So, he probably wouldn't know you were cutting him. And where's the fun in that?"

Hedeon frowned and turned away from him. "And Michael, you're pushing your luck. Maybe I've let you live a little too long? Or maybe, you'd like to take his place?"

"I'm ready if you are. But just remember, your new toy is going to die too, since I won't be around to keep him alive. And I can tell you're aching for another go at him."

Hedeon frowned deeply and then said, "That mouth of yours is going to cost you someday, Michael."

"If that's what it takes, I'm ready. Been ready for years."

Holding his breath, he waited for Hedeon to take the man out, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Hedeon said sharply, "Just get him up and moving. I want him in the ring within the month."

"He needs more antibiotics. I've given him the pills you sent, and his chest is still infected. And it will take at least six weeks to get him fight ready, if you let him heal."

"You've got four, so figure it out. And you're lucky that he got the first round of antibiotics. I mean it. This is one is on you. You'll take his place both in the ring and out, if you don't get him up and moving and ready to fight."

"And I mean it about the antibiotics. His chest is still infected. You know they die from that, so ignore it and cost yourself money. You do remember how well I fight?"

"Alright, I'll send another round for him, but you get him up. Get him ready to fight."

And Hedeon quit the room.

"Do you have a death wish?" The man turned on him, demanding.

"Yes, I do! But thank you for telling him I wouldn't know he was cutting me," he said quietly. "I don't think I could have handled it."

"You're welcome. But you need to figure out that he likes your pain. So, stop daring him, for you're a new toy to him, and he is going to kill you not just cut you if you keep it up."

"Only if I'm lucky."

The man began to re-bandage his chest.

"Michael's your name?" Oliver asked quietly.

"Only he calls me Michael. He used to call me his Michelangelo when he cut me. Men here call me, Mike, though, it's not my birth name, but that name doesn't matter anymore, hasn't for years."

Oliver could hear the resignation in his flat voice and it bothered him, worried him that someday this would be him, that this would be his future, that his chest and back would look like Mike's, and he would never escape this place. And it was a terrifying thought.

"How long have you been trapped here?"

"Five years, I think. A very long time, and longer than anyone else. He owns me too, just like you, but I'm an old toy. My body's pretty well used up. He would have bled me out a long time ago, if I wasn't good at what I do."

Oliver tried to catch his brown eyes, tried to connect with the man that had fought him tooth and nail to not let him die, as he said, "What do you do?"

"This." He smoothed the tape down.

His brown eyes locked with his, as he said, "I keep his new toy, his canvas alive," The man looked him hard in the eye, as he said, "for as long as possible. And Oliver, I'm lucky that he doesn't play with me very often anymore."

"And then he cuts you when they die doesn't he?"

Mike sighed, then he said, "You're the one with the problem. You're the new toy. You have lots of places to still cut you on that chest and your broad back. And the only reason he didn't cut you today was that he doesn't want you to die, and I convinced him that you would. And he has killed so many that he understands that if he kills them then the toy is really no good."

"He bleeds them out?"

Mike looked away, as though he was seeing into a window, before he said, "Yes, he doesn't stop sometimes, he just keeps cutting. And no one will stop him, he owns all of us, and pays the others well to look the other way. But dead people don't scream, so you walk very carefully, Oliver. He likes your spirit, so STOP showing it to him, stop defying him. He wants you to defy him."

"I am going to kill him."

"Stop saying that."

"NO. I am."

"Oliver, he liked that you could hold back the screams for a while. Hedeon loved that you leaned into the knife. But you scared him. He wants it to be his choice when he kills you. He doesn't like that you could take that decision from him."

Mike finished smoothing his bandage.

"And he has never came to see anyone that he cut up. You're the first, and he's itching for another go at you, which is very bad for you. He'll carve on you again, trust me. We need to stock up some your blood."

"My blood?"

"Yeah, you're type O. You're rare. The only one here. And, I know from experience, before this is over, you'll need a transfusion. He calls my chest, by back, his work of art. Get it, I'm his Michelangelo, his master piece."

He stood again and stripped off his shirt and showed him his marks, the road map of scars and his very large thick H on his left shoulder. And he knew that Hedeon had taken years to give Mike that many scars. Finally he said, "Look, Oliver, really look at me. This is your future and I'm lucky. I'm type A positive. I'm the type that's everywhere. But you're O."

He shook his head, before he said, "That's' a bad type to have here. We are in the middle of nowhere. And Hedeon is the lord, the law, here. And, I really hope you can fight cause he is going to hurt you really bad when you lose."

"Then I better not lose."

"You can't win forever, and, Oliver, Hedeon will cheat. Watch out, he will play you. He will make sure that you lose, so he can carve on you again. Beware, Oliver, he will make sure of it."

"I am going to make him finish me. I can't live like this."

"That's just it, Oliver. You're not going to live, it's just a matter of how long I can keep you alive. He's killed everyone I've ever helped. Everyone but me."

Jerking back to awareness, he was panicking, he couldn't hear the gulf only his heart pounding, as his sweaty hand reached expecting to find blood on his chest, expecting to find blood on his back. The H was throbbing on his back and the ache in his chest was intense. He was gasping, suffocating, his heart was racing, his chest tightening and for a moment he wasn't sure if he was going to pass out or not.

His chest was so tight. He tried to stand, but his panic was so overwhelming that when he stood up, he had to sit back down. The files were now in disarray on the porch. His heart was pounding, as his eyes swept the parking lot, next to the house. Felicity had just driven up and was opening the car door and looking up at him, smiling. And he suddenly didn't know if he could cover how out of control he was. He couldn't breathe, his breath was coming in short gasps. Oh, his chest hurt.

"Oliver?'"

"Felicity!'

"So how did your team meeting go?"

"Felicity, I can't breathe. My chest. I'm dizzy. I don't know what's wrong. I feel. . ."

"Oliver!"

He could hear her sharp tone, but he was passing out.

#####OQ#####

He woke up to screaming sirens in an ambulance. And he came up fighting them, pushing a man's hands away from him.

"Sir, calm down, we're just trying to help you. You're having a problem with your blood pressure and possibility a heart attack. So you need to calm down."

Hands were pushing him down. His mind wasn't working right, but then he remembered he had fell out on the porch.

"Felicity? Where is Felicity?"

"What's his name?"

"Queen, Oliver Queen."

"Oliver, you need to calm down, now. His blood pressure is still 180/132. Put your foot in it."

"Oliver, does your chest hurt? Come on work with me here. Does your chest hurt?"

"Yes."

"Head ache?"

"Yes."

"Vision blurry?"

"Maybe."

"Have you taken any nonprescription or recreational drugs today?"

"No, I haven't taken any drugs. Where is Felicity?" And he found himself clutching his chest, as it tightened and ached. No this couldn't be happening to him. He was only thirty. He couldn't be having a heart attack.

The driver said, "We're coming in with a hypertensive emergency. Possible heart attack. We are in route. Two minutes ETA. Have a team and a crash cart ready."

#####OQ#####

Reviews? Come on people. Say something. Reviews keep me writing. They give a reason to brother. But as always thanks for the read. And did anyone catch the trigger?