February weather in Star City was not to be trifled with. Low temp, high winds, the occasional blizzard—not fun being outside for any extended period. Today, that weather was out in form. Which was precisely why SAC Watson had chosen it as the day for Richard Dragon's transfer. The early hours were especially ideal—sun barely out, few cars on the road, and Watson had gone to great lengths to keep the public from discovering this move beforehand. Fewer people would be out and about, which meant fewer chances for an angry citizen to take things into their own hands. One thing was certain: they needed to get Diaz out of the city. His backers were neck-deep in dirty business, and whatever information he could provide would be critical in exposing them.

Thus, along the immediate route and several blocks outside the courthouse, the FBI had set up a perimeter, complete with snipers watching the buildings and SWAT manning the vehicle convoy. Richard Dragon was being rolled out with some of his highest-ranking lieutenants; if anyone was going to hit the convoy, it would be someone desperate for revenge or a holdout loyalist. With all the guns Diaz floated around Star City during his reign, either one could be equally hazardous.

Watson tightened her ballistic vest and press checked her sidearm, then checked her main, a Remington 870 loaded with slugs. It hung off a sling around her shoulder, dangling at her hip.

"Agent Watson."

She turned. "Zielinski, how's it looking?"

"Perimeter's airtight, ma'am. Nothing within two miles of the convoy is getting a clear shot."

She nodded. "Then let's get moving."

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, which meant the streets were still very much cloaked in the shadows cast by the skyline. The armored transfer van rolled up to the steps as Watson's radio went off. The prisoner train was ready to roll. She gave Zielinski a nod. He picked up his radio and muttered orders over the line. The courthouse's back doors opened, permitting a sequence of four shackled men in orange jumpsuits wearing ballistic vests and black bags over their heads. In case there was someone watching who had slipped through their perimeter (Diaz's operatives were tricky that way), they wouldn't be able to tell who's who. Even Watson didn't know where Diaz was in the train.

Six officers escorted the prisoners to the armored van, physically guiding them to the back. Another two agents opened the doors and readied the internal shackles. Watson scanned the streets and immediately surrounding buildings. By design, most of the buildings around the courthouse were fairly low, giving her a clear view of the surrounding skyline. Far in the distance, towering structures reflected the golden light of the new day, making her squint a bit. The train was reaching the bottom of the steps when she heard it.

Crack!

FBI agents got into shootouts considerably less than the movies made it seem, but the retaking of Star City had given Watson plenty of experience getting shot at. Thus, the supersonic crack of a passing bullet immediately prompted her to take a knee and scan for a muzzle flash.

"Sniper!" she shouted over radio.

"They're hit! Man down!"

Her head snapped around to see one of the prisoners collapse to the ground, dragging the others to a stop while the escorting officers tried to drag them to cover. The dead weight kept them still.

Watson's eyes widened. "Move!"

Crack-crack-crack!

Three shots rang out in rapid succession, nailing each prisoner dead center. From her position, in this light, she couldn't tell if they penetrated the armor.

"Where the hell is it coming from?!" she yelled over the radio. "Sniper teams, report!"

"We're watching the perimeter, ma'am. Nothing on our scopes—stand by."

Five long seconds passed.

"Sniper team seven reports muzzle flash—about two-point-six miles outside the courthouse, Merlyn Tower."

"Get there, now. Zielinski, roll medical and secure the prisoners in that van!"

No further shots came as she ran to her Suburban with another agent hopping in the driver's seat.

"Go, go, go!"

…

For the man who spotted the shots first, Merlyn Tower was already in sight. The metallic grind of a bowstring draw and release preceded rapid ascension from a nearby high-rise. Green Arrow ran up the wall, using the winch of his ascension arrow to defy gravity at a dead sprint. When he reached the top, Caden launched himself over the side in a twist-flip that allowed him to nock and draw another arrow by the time he landed. He swept the rooftop, scanning around AC units and access stairwells. Within moments, he came upon the ideal shooting location facing the courthouse and found a discarded rifle sitting on a tripod mounted to the rooftop by a series of screws.

From what he'd read on the Adrien Lewis case file, it wasn't a dissimilar setup, but not identical either. Expensive, professional, and definitely something the Decembrists would use if they needed to off someone at a distance.

Green Arrow kept sweeping, looking for any signs of movement or hint of where the shooter had gone. They could've exited through any one of three stairwells. He moved to a nearby power junction and isolated the data line tied to building security, jacking in. Only static greeted him.

"Damn," he muttered.

So he chose a stairwell and started descending into a tangled, claustrophobic office space laid out like a maze. Maybe two minutes had passed since the first shot, which meant as little as ninety seconds earlier, that shooter was still on the rifle. They couldn't have gotten far. So he opened a window and fired a surveillance arrow that stuck to a nearby building, adjusting the camera so it faced the tower. He did the same on each side, monitoring all exits and avenues of escape on the surface. Then he ran to the nearest emergency exit. He got lucky: it was a spiral staircase with just enough room for him to descend through the middle.

A cable arrow dug into the ceiling, allowing him to rappel to the bottom floor in half a minute. He sprinted through the building, clearing room by room looking for any other way out, like an emergency tunnel. Nothing. No motion on the cameras either. He cursed sharply and went back to the stairwell, attaching a winch system on his belt to the discarded cable. The system engaged, speeding him to the top floor so he could get a closer look at that rifle before the FBI arrived.

Semi-automatic, no serial number, no manufacturer's tags on the optic or tripod. Hell, he didn't even recognize the model, which was saying something. Either this weapon was something completely new to the market or it was a custom job from top to bottom. He measured the bore of the barrel and length of the chamber: 7.62x54R—old, likely Russian-made. An old, big round for a custom gun, and not at all easy to shoot with on a day like today, with this much wind. There were no indications that this was one of those smart guns floating around, either. If he'd had any doubts about Devil Dog not being behind this, that alone laid it to rest—Lewis wasn't that good a shot. In fact, the only people he'd trust to pull off four consecutive shots in these conditions with a weapon like this were Deadshot and—

Caden froze.

Me.

Icy talons dug deep into his chest.

His forearm buzzed as one of the cameras picked up movement. He pulled up the feed only to feel his excitement fade as an FBI Suburban screeched up to the curb followed by three more. SWAT and plainclothes agents piled in through the front door, clearing their way to the roof. Caden sighed and shook his head. If the shooter was still in the building, Watson would find them soon enough. If not, then they must've pissed off before even he arrived. That left barely a minute's window for exfil from the time the first shot went off. Damn efficient.

The icy talons dug in a little deeper.

Green Arrow sighed hard, shaking off the feeling, then fired another cable arrow and swung away from the building before the FBI even knew he was there.

…

Ten hours later, Watson was ready to start tearing her hair out. They had nothing, nothing in the way of leads or evidence that could lead them to the shooter. The rifle left behind was entirely custom from top to bottom. No brass left at the scene, but powder residue on the barrel and chamber indicated that the rifle was fresh, probably not fired more than once prior to today. The weapon was chambered in an old Soviet caliber, but the Russians hadn't had a major presence in the city since before Richard Dragon's takeover. His backers must've been trying to shut him up and make it look like a mob hit. Unsuccessfully, as it happened.

Watson was very glad she'd insisted on springing for Level IV body armor.

But the impact from those rounds nevertheless put them out of commission. Diaz wasn't in any shape to be talking. He and the others had been thrown in the transport van and sped down the route as soon as they secured the perimeter of Merlyn Tower. She doubted they had another shooter like this along the route, and the FBI cordon was still rock solid otherwise. They arrived at the external holding site an hour ago, perfectly intact.

The problem was that the attempt on Diaz and his lieutenants proved there was another major player in Star City, one with plans to stay, if they were so insistent on silencing him. Samanda was getting sick of being smeared as an occupying force, but the scum of this city seemed dead set on making her foreseeable future as miserable as possible. Fortunately, they were within a month of handing day to day law enforcement back to SCPD, so at least she had that going for her. With municipal police back in business, they'd be free and clear to focus on the bigger threat and hopefully take down the power behind the throne for good.

But now they'd hit a dead end, and she doubted very much that Diaz was going to give up anything of value for free. The last thing she wanted to do was cut a deal with that psychopath. She'd barely stomached giving one to Oliver Queen—though admittedly, she got the much better half of that deal.

There was one option, however. Back when the FBI had taken over from the police pending a thorough cleanup, a man had appeared with an abundance of intel on Richard Dragon's operations. Prior to the operation, he'd stayed in hiding for fear of being killed for what he knew, collecting evidence and biding his time, then feeding it to the FBI piece by piece. Tim Stonner was his name. He had a few addresses on the books, no telling when or if he'd be at each one. But he'd left a number with one of his intel packages, a dead-end receiver whose only function was to let him know the FBI was looking to meet.

She'd only seen the man once. Zielinski usually handled the drops. They had very little in Stonner's file, enough to tell Samanda that he was very good at covering his tracks. It was probably the only reason he survived Richard Dragon. She'd called the number fifteen minutes ago, hopefully long enough for him to get the message and go to the meeting point, an office in old town with sports and historical memorabilia. Seemed Stonner was a collector of things besides information. As Samanda pulled into the street parking nearby, she scanned the street for any suspicious figures.

Stonner was an asset to the Bureau, mysterious, but an asset nonetheless. One they could not afford to lose if they wanted to stay ahead of the new player. The last thing they needed was Stonner getting spooked because she was tailed to him. Looking as nonchalant as possible, she wrapped her scarf around her neck and hurried to get inside and out of the wind. It didn't take much acting; Star City shared its weather patterns with Chicago. The inside was mercifully warm.

For a man so thoroughly concerned with his safety and anonymity, Stonner's office was very exposed to the outside: wall to wall glass and memorabilia of Star City's sports teams. All of which gave very good line of sight from the street to the desk that served as the room's centerpiece. Though maybe that was a precaution for someone walking into the building and gunning him down—insurance that maybe someone on the street would witness it. She heard a muffled flush from a side door that opened a moment later. Watson appraised the man who came out as he cast her a dismissive look.

Dark brown hair, chapped tan skin, and a thin beard greeted her as he saw himself to a rolling chair behind his desk. When she just kept staring, he waved annoyedly at a chair on the opposite side. Watson sat and nervously glanced at the windows.

"Heard about your sniper situation," Stonner said in a faint Midwest accent. He waved at the window. "It's reinforced and tinted. Even if someone can see inside, the first shot won't penetrate. So relax. I didn't survive Richard Dragon bein' an idiot." He reached for a nearby mug and took a swig of coffee. "I assume you called me here for a reason, and I suspect I know what that reason is."

"The gun," she said, retrieving a file with copies of their accumulated evidence. "The shooter left it behind, but aside from the caliber, we haven't been able to make anything of it."

Stonner sifted through the pictures while Watson elaborated.

"Barely fired, every part custom-made, and far as we can tell, no prints, no identifiable markers on the materials that could tell us where it came from. Our best guess is this is a very expensive weapon designed to be disposable."

"Yet apparently not designed with the FBI in mind," Stonner said. "The body armor held up fine."

She frowned. "Meaning?"

He shrugged. "That I doubt this was actually a hit; more of a message—for Diaz to keep his mouth shut and you not to celebrate early."

"So whoever this is wants to be known."

"That's my read on it. There are better ways to keep someone from talking than havin' 'em shot in broad daylight with full metal jacket." He threw the folder down and frowned. "Sadly, I got nothin' for ya. For once, your best read is my best read. Haven't heard anything about the Russians bein' in town since Diaz drove 'em out."

"Not even to hold a grudge?"

A shrug. "If they are makin' trouble, it's through a proxy."

Watson fell silent and leaned back in her seat. "What do you know about Diaz's backers?"

"The Decembrists?" Stonner shrugged. "They've got their fingers in a lotta different pies. If you're askin' what they want with Star City, I have no idea. For a couple'a mooks who like startin' wars in the Middle East, one city's a little small-game to my eyes."

The room was silent for a while before Watson started retrieving the evidence.

"Thanks anyway," she said. "We'll be in touch if we need—"

Stonner glanced out the window, then suddenly leapt over the desk in a wide-eyed panic and tackled her out of the chair. She didn't have time to respond before an explosion tore through the building.

…

How many years had he been doing this? How many decades? After a certain point, it all started to run together, to a degree that even a perfect memory couldn't make it feel real. But no matter how much time passed, he never got used to being blown up.

Caden wheezed and coughed as he blindly pushed away sheets of scorched drywall and plywood. He blinked rapidly, thinking for a moment that maybe the explosion had caused flash blindness, but no, the smoke was just that thick. It didn't bode well for him or Watson. He ducked down, almost pressing his face to the floor, and blindly groped around until he felt something give a bit. She coughed a moment later, prompting him to grab her shoulders and pull. If his memory served—and they hadn't been thrown too far by the explosion—there was a side window off to the left, past the bathroom opposite where the rocket had come from.

Watson stumbled, making him half-carry her through the smoke as he held his breath. By the time they reached the window, she was wheezing and gasping. The window swung outward like a door, and Caden shoved her through as soon as it was open. He leapt out a moment later, almost tackling her again. He may not have breathed much of the smoke, but it was still enough to make his vision unsteady. He pulled Watson to her feet, scanning the rooftops for any signs of movement. The last shot had come from the fifth floor of a nearby building. He'd only noticed the incoming shot because the glare of the rocket trail off the tinted windows.

RPGs traveled a lot faster than it looked in the movies. If it wasn't for his enhanced reflexes, they'd both be—

Wait.

The office windows were practically a one-way mirror for all anyone outside could see in. The shooter was firing blind. If Achilles was behind this, there's no way he would've trusted a single RPG to take them out. Which meant—

Caden shoved Watson into a nearby alley and halfway dragged her along, trying to get as much distance as possible between them and the burning building. The moment he spotted a dumpster big enough to conceal them, he pushed Watson down and crouched next to her. Caden got his bearings and peeked around the corner to see three armed men in nondescript streetclothes approach the building. They motioned to each other in hand signals, splitting off to make simultaneous entry on the building.

Achilles wouldn't bet everything on them being inside, so Caden had to assume he already had a perimeter in place. He reached into the pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out a subcompact pistol. Watson gave him a look, then pulled her own piece. She had enough sense to stay silent, only nodding toward the office. He held up three fingers, pointed to his eyes, then motioned at the burning building. She nodded, then jerked her head toward the other end of the alley. He waved her forward, watching the way they came while she took point.

They moved back-to-back, exiting the alley into another wider one, with a nearby loading dock and a half-empty van. The boxes were unmarked. Red flags went up in Caden's head. He pulled Watson's arm the moment he saw movement around the front of the vehicle. Gunfire broke out a moment later as Caden preemptively shot at the first sign of metal. The first man went down before the two behind him opened fire—just pistols for now. They got lucky. The clearing team had the big guns.

Drake and Watson broke out running away from the van, toward an open thoroughfare in the hopes that being in public would limit their pursuers' options. They exchanged fire mid-run, zigzagging behind trash bins and concrete stairways. As soon as Caden reached the end of the alley, he posted up on a wall and waved her past.

"Go!" he shouted, popping off shots at the van and the trio of men around it.

Caden sunk his last three shots into the point man, who went down with holes in his neck and abdomen. One of the shooters slid to his side, trying to staunch the bleeding in his neck while the third kept shooting at them.

"Set!" Watson shouted over the gunfire.

Her pistol joined the fight a moment later, covering him so he could disengage. Caden ducked down and looked for another way.

Two paths—stay off the streets, out of the open. Apartment building. West fire escape.

"Moving!" Caden called, ejecting his spent mag.

He slapped a new one in—ten rounds—and took cover behind the engine block of a paint van. "Set!" he shouted. "See that fire escape?"

"On it!"

Caden watched the alley's mouth for movement. The fire escape was at an angle from the alley, out of direct line of sight. If the gunmen tried to pursue, he'd have a clear shot. They didn't. He heard the distant clanks of Watson climbing the fire escape and glanced back to see her already leaping up the second flight of stairs. She tried a window and found it unlocked, leading into a hallway, if the light fixture he could see was any indication.

"Set!" she called from inside the window.

Caden sprinted for the fire escape. He caught a glimpse of movement in his peripherals and flinched when a shot whizzed over his head from the window. Watson came under return fire when two gunmen with rifles took up suppression. She ducked down, the building's brick giving her decent cover. Unfortunately, she could no longer cover him, and ten shots weren't going to last long. So Caden lunged for a column of parked cars near the building and leapt from one to another, each ascending in height. As his steps hit the edge of the last, he leapt six yards forward, just enough to launch himself feet-first through a second-story window.

Glass shattered and sprayed his forearms as he covered his face. The moment he touched the tile floor, he was running for the nearest stairwell. Watson was on the fourth floor. Without either of them suppressing the gunmen, it wouldn't take them long to catch up. He just had to hope—

Caden stopped short at the gun barrel pointed at his face. Watson sighed and lowered the gun.

"Thought they tagged you," she said.

"Not yet." He jerked his head left. "Come on, we can get out the other side."

Movement outside the far window prompted him to shove Watson against the wall. High-velocity rounds ripped through, scattering dust and shattered wall tile everywhere.

"Back to the stairs!" he shouted, pushing her first.

She sprinted up two at a time with him right behind.

"How far up?!" she asked.

"Roof! I saw another building within jumping distance!"

Caden heard movement on his left as they reached the third-floor landing. He peeked around the corner as Watson ran past. His arm went around the edge a moment later, firing three shots that struck the two gunmen coming from the fire escape. Two of the three hit body armor, but one tore through the upper thigh of one, sending him screaming to the floor. His partner knelt down, pulling his comrade toward a doorway and dropping his gun for a tourniquet.

Caden frowned. He remembered the piles of discarded bodies in Karbala—Quracis and Myrmidons—they didn't look after each other like this.

He followed Watson up the stairs, breaking out onto the sixth-story roof a moment later. They swept it quickly, few obstructions save an occasional AC unit. Watson looked around and spotted a half-rusted chair. She braced it against the doorknob. Caden saw the nearby building and winced at the distance. It would take a boost jump to clear, at least for Watson.

"Shit," she muttered.

"It's okay," he said, shooting out the nearest window. He took a slight crouch near the roof's edge and laced his fingers together. "I want you to get a running start, then I boost you over the gap."

Watson stared at him wide-eyed, glancing at the drop.

"Hey, you die, I die. Come on!" He motioned to her with his cupped hands.

She nodded slowly, holstering her pistol and taking rapid breaths. Watson hyped herself up for a good five seconds before she took off sprinting toward him from the middle of the roof. The moment her feet left the ground, he crouched down further and threw his hands up toward her leg. Watson launched off his foot, flying a good ten yards across the gap to slide shins and forearms-first through a carpet of glass. She was lucky it was cold; her thick clothes took most of the damage.

"What about you?" she called through the gap.

He waved to the side. "Just stand back!"

The roof access door slammed open the moment he took off running.

Gunfire followed his every step, forcing him to zigzag and reduce his forward momentum. He clenched his teeth. This was gonna be close. The last ten paces were a straight sprint. He leapt with all his might—the arc was good.

Bang!

A rifle round tore through his coat and slammed into his back trauma plate—no damage, but the kinetic energy threw off his arc just a little. Just enough. His fingers slipped against the windowsill, and then he was sliding straight down brick.

"Stonner!" Watson screamed.

Before he could accelerate too far, Caden flicked out his knife and drove it between the bricks. The Promethium blade carved through the mortar until it hit a brick. It cut halfway through before catching. Unfortunately, the short blade was jostled just enough to dislodge it from the wall. He had all of a second to think before he used his feet's remaining contact with the wall to spring off, turning his downward momentum sideways. Caden twisted his body, reorienting to try and cushion his fall, but there were still four stories between him and the ground. This was gonna hurt. A lot.

Something long and sinuous slammed into his back with a hydraulic pop and a good deal of force. Before he knew it, Caden was pinned to the brick of the apartment building, no longer falling, but trapped. He tried to reorient his knife to cut whatever was keeping him in place. A window right above him slid open. He had just enough time to glance up before the butt of a gun slammed him unconscious.

…

Everything was…hazy, muted, like a silk sheet was laying over every sense. Then muffled words came.

"Fionne, if you would."

A rush of tingling pain, a snort of ammonium, and Caden jerked wide awake. His movement was immediately arrested by the tight metal biting into his wrists. It took all of a second to take in his situation: cuffed to a metal chair in a small room with dim overhead lighting, no windows, and a standpipe; two people, one a woman—

"I gotta say…"

Caden froze wide-eyed, staring into the shadows to see another silhouette in a chair opposite the lit center of the room. He slowly stood, hands tucked behind his back, and stepped into the light.

"It is so good to finally meet you."

Caden stared at the smiling face that greeted him, seized at once with the urge to vomit, scream, and cry all at once. That conflict must've played across his face, because the smile of the carbon copy standing in front of him immediately turned to a concerned frown.

"Oh…oh gods, I'm sorry." He reached back and pulled the chair closer, sitting within arm's reach. "This must be an incredible shock for you. I mean…" a shrug, "after Karbala, you probably suspected, but to know for sure…" He smiled apologetically. "Sorry to just spring that on you."

Caden swallowed his bile and took a moment to calm his breathing. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "You're not Achilles."

He chuckled. "Gods, no."

He motioned to the woman with a nod and wave.

In his peripherals, Caden saw her walk behind him and felt the pressure around his wrists vanish. She collected the cuffs and resumed watching from a safe distance. He observed her until the man in front of him moved to hold out his hand.

"Adonis," he said with a smile.

Caden stared at the appendage for a good two seconds before cautiously shaking it.

"It is a genuine delight to have you here," Adonis said. His head tilted as he leaned in a bit. "I'm a big fan of your work."

Caden frowned. "Shame I can't return the sentiment."

Adonis leaned back and shrugged. "You mean Diaz?" He huffed and waved dismissively. "A semi-useful pawn. Too spiteful and crass to be all that valuable, but he got the job done."

"Distracting me?"

Adonis gave him a rueful smile. "Nothing personal, just following orders."

"Whose? Janus or Ares?"

Adonis took a deep breath, the faintest hint of a snarl tugging at his lips. "Yes. Though, I will say Ares is my most direct handler."

Caden glanced between him and Fionne. "Then why am I here? And why haven't you killed me?"

He blinked rapidly, staring at him aghast. "Kill you? Why in Tartarus' name would I do that? I just needed to bring you here so we could talk in private." Adonis waved around. "It wasn't easy making this place, and I really have to time my visits well."

Caden frowned, brows knit, and then he really looked around. His eyes had adjusted enough that the walls were visible in some detail. Enough to see every inch of concrete was covered in runes and symbols, many of which he recognized. The combinations all seemed to add up to one thing.

"This is a magic suppression chamber," Caden said. "Why do you need it?"

Adonis smiled venomously. "My handler…" he finally let his snarl show in full, "likes to keep his finger on the pulse of his assets. Literally, in my case." He leaned in and pulled a small blacklight from his jacket, illuminating his face. "It's still faint, even under this light, but when I was…awakened, Ares tattooed some kind of monitoring system into my skin. At any point, he could choose to contact me through a psychic link. Hear everything I hear, see everything I see, read my thoughts, et cetera."

Adonis turned the light off. "I'm not sure if it's for knowledge alone or direct alteration, but every time he turns it on, it's like someone's taking an awl to my frontal cortex." His head shook. "Not fun." Adonis swallowed and leaned in, hands clasped in his lap. "Ares wants what you know about the Signet of Solomon. He thinks you know where it is."

Caden stiffened. The Signet was a magical artifact from the time of the original wizard Shazam. It was a token with vast clairvoyant abilities, but not particularly useful to someone who could look and travel across dimensions like Janus.

Caden's eyes narrowed. "If Ares was just after the Signet, why sponsor Richard Dragon? Why spend so many resources distracting me?"

Adonis sighed and rolled his eyes. "Because he thought Achilles could retrace your steps, think how you think, find where you hid it."

"Because he assumed I know where it is."

"Do you?"

Caden frowned. "If I do, you know I won't tell you."

Adonis nodded. "Yes, I know. Ordinarily, that would be true, but see, that Signet isn't why I brought you here." He leaned in more and glanced around nervously, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I want out, Caden."

He blinked.

"Achilles is an animal; he loves the conflict, feeds off it. It's why he can't figure out what you did with the ring." A shrug. "I have more…refined tastes. Tastes that I cannot properly indulge while existing under the thumb of that psychopath."

Drake's head shook.

"Wha—why are you shaking your head? I haven't finished yet."

"Because I can already tell this is going nowhere. I'm not helping Ares—"

"No, no, of course not! You're helping me."

Caden sneered and looked away.

Adonis scooted his chair in even closer. "Look. Look."

Reluctantly, he met his doppelganger's eyes, surprised to find how earnest they were.

"I didn't ask to be made." Adonis' head shook. "And I certainly didn't ask to be made Ares' bitch. Now, I have a plan to get this damn tattoo off, but I need Ares to let his guard down. And for that—"

"You need the Signet."

Adonis splayed his hands out. "I need progress, Caden, something that'll stop him from nagging me every eight hours. You give me that, work with me, and I will feed you whatever you want to know about the Decembrists. I want a future for me and mine. The Myrmidons, Achilles, Ares, Janus—none of them mean a damn thing to me. As long as I can get my freedom, I will do whatever it takes."

Caden searched his face, his eyes, his body language. He'd seen enough of himself in the mirror to know his own tells. Adonis showed none of them. Still…

"And since I know that's not enough to convince you, here's a little intel you might find interesting." Adonis smirked. "Black Mask put the bounty on Jason's head."

Caden's eyes widened.

"He's Zirconan Nebula's silent partner." A wince. "And at Ares' behest, I've been supplying his mercenaries with their Venom supplements."

"…why?"

"Why what? Why is Ares helping Sionis? Why did I follow his orders? Why am I telling you any of this?"

"All of that."

"Following Ares' orders should be…" he motioned to his face, "self-evident. Why Ares is lending Sionis a hand probably has more to do with the Venom than Sionis himself. Ares likes to tweak with chemistry. He's using Red Claw as his testbed."

"And you?"

Adonis shrugged. "Like I said, I want out. Whatever it takes to convince you of that, I'll do it. You're the only one I trust to help me."

"Why?"

Adonis' lips pursed annoyedly. "Because you understand the agony of living with shackles. Yours was the target painted on your back as a kid. Mine is this damn tattoo. You have the resources and intelligence to fix this; I just needed to explain it here, in person."

Caden frowned. "If you just wanted to talk to me, why wait until Watson came knocking?"

Adonis hummed. "If you're alone, you're at the top of your game, and I know you wouldn't have come quietly. Would've cost me a lot more manpower and energy to bring you in if you didn't have someone to protect."

"Then you let her go?"

Adonis laughed. "No, of course not. Why would I?"

"She doesn't have anything to do with this."

"Not with this, no." Adonis snapped his fingers at Fionne, who handed him a tablet. "I took her as a favor to you." He showed Caden the screen, a live feed of her chained up in another room. "A token of goodwill."

Caden frowned. "And this shows me that how?"

"Well, now you get to decide what to do with her."

Caden stared at him, confused.

"All your exploits as Green Arrow were superbly planned and executed to discredit her and the feds. The one thing I could never figure out is why you let her live so long."

Drake's eyes narrowed. "Why would I want her dead? She's the only one who can testify about the coerced plea deal that landed Oliver in prison."

"Explain."

Caden frowned, surprising himself with how open he was being. "In the months leading to his arrest, Oliver was pretty much on his own against Richard Dragon. In that time, he completely took over the city from the top down."

"Okay, this I know."

"So did Watson and the FBI."

Adonis' eyes widened. "Ahhh…they let Diaz run wild to back Oliver into a corner."

"Exactly, and the deal that followed was signed in desperation."

"So your plan is to get enough leverage to force her to testify at his appeal."

"Yes. So was it a dick move—and in all likelihood illegal? Yes. But I'm not killing her over that."

Adonis blinked and shook his head. "No, no, that's not what I thought."

"Then why—"

"Because she tried to kill Oliver in prison."

Caden froze, felt a chill pass over his body. "What?"

"Yeah, I mean, not directly. It's not like she hired someone, but…you know what happened that first week, when he first arrived."

Drake's jaw tightened. Oliver had been stabbed twice on the first day after being stuck directly in gen pop with his identity now public. His assailants had lived to regret their decision. Barely.

Caden looked up at him. "What does Watson have to do with that?"

Adonis blinked, then showed him a dossier of clerical documents and pictures of Watson meeting with a judge. "She authorized it. The transfer order that sent him to Iron Heights—y'know, the prison he helped fill as Green Arrow—without any measure of protection, not even solitary confinement."

Caden felt all the blood drain from his face as he read through the files.

"I mean yes, a judge signed off on it and corrections complied, but she was the one pulling the strings." Adonis frowned. "You didn't know. Didn't you think it was odd, for such a colossal blunder to have happened on such a high-profile case?"

Drake stared at the screen, at the live feed of her cell. "I…always figured there was someone in the process with an axe to grind but…"

"You didn't know it was her."

His head shook.

Adonis let him think a bit. "Well, what do you want to do?"

Caden was silent for a full minute before he met Adonis' eyes. "Nothing's changed. I need her testimony to set Oliver free."

Adonis tipped his head slightly. "As you wish. Still, this needs to look good, so I was thinking someone should save her."

Caden arched an eyebrow. "Green Arrow?"

He grinned. "Exactly. Now, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty…"

Adonis dumped a case in front of him—his case—and opened it to reveal the suit and bow.

Caden stared at it. "You knew where I was all this time."

"Of course."

Caden's jaw worked.

"It's…not fun being on the back foot for once, is it?"

Drake gave him an irritated smile and shook his head.

Adonis smiled apologetically and ran a hand through his dyed auburn hair. "Sorry." His smile faded as Caden unfurled the suit. "Before you go, I need an answer. Will you help me?"

Caden thought long and hard, looking from him to Fionne. Neither looked armed, but he wasn't banking on that. Whether he left the room would probably bank on his answer. But more than that…

He stared at Adonis, remembering the pattern of those tattoos etched into his face. "If I help you, I'll need to be out of the country for a while. That means no big trouble in Star City, or at least a reason for Green Arrow to be inactive."

"Done. Though convincing the FBI to give up chasing you might take a little subterfuge. If I can draw their attention elsewhere, I can keep them busy enough that they forget all about you."

Drake frowned. "You had something in mind?"

Adonis smiled. "How attached are you to that 'Stonner' legend?"

…

Watson had been trying to slip her zip-ties for the last half hour. After Stonner had been literally tied to a wall and knocked out, she had been swarmed from all sides and, not being an idiot, surrendered her weapon. From there, it was zip-ties and black bags all the way to this place. From the little she could see of her surroundings, her captors had taken her to a defunct sewage plant, or maybe a factory. She could barely see with the faint sunlight streaming in from a dirty skylight. The standpipe she was secured to was, unfortunately, solid. And apparently this place wasn't completely defunct, because it was still running warm water.

The taps of approaching footsteps drew her attention to a rapidly growing silhouette.

"Who are you?" she asked. "What did you do with Stonner?"

The silhouette stared at her, tilted its head, then got even closer.

"Oh, he's just fine."

Her eyes widened.

Tim Stonner stepped into the light, smiling venomously. "Though I do appreciate your concern." A chuckle. "I'm afraid I have you at a disadvantage. We haven't been properly introduced." He leaned in and halfway bowed to put their heads at a similar height. "Adonis. A pleasure."

Watson stared at his face, then the ground as she turned everything over in her head. Stonner started pacing around her.

"You're in charge of the Decembrists," she said. "You always have been."

"In this hemisphere, yes."

She looked up at him. "Why feed us information about Richard Dragon? Why sabotage your investment?"

Adonis chuckled. "You only ever knew about the most vulnerable parts of his operation. Our attempt at forcing him to optimize." He smiled ruefully. "It didn't work so well."

"Why give us anything at all? What was the point?"

He sighed. "The FBI was never our priority. You were barely a blip on our radar." A shrug. "We…were hoping he could replicate his success against Oliver Queen with the new Green Arrow. We were wrong. At every turn, he botched that opportunity and burned through our resources for months with nothing to show for it. Diaz was a failed investment."

"So why not just kill him?"

Adonis winced. "Unfortunately, he was a failed investment with a dedicated following and enough security to make disposing of him…difficult."

Watson huffed. "So you fed him to Green Arrow, let him do the heavy lifting."

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Got it in one. Once he was out in the open, it was child's play taking potshots at him. Good on you for the reinforced body armor, though. Didn't see that coming."

"Open? No one except the agents on site knew what was—"

Adonis scoffed. "Please. You think your agency is any cleaner than Diaz's police? Why do you think it was so easy to manipulate you?"

"Then why go after me? Why lure me out here? And why tell me all this?"

He stopped pacing and faced her, hands clasped behind his back. "Why do you think?"

Watson froze, feeling the temperature drop ten degrees.

Adonis reached into his pocket and whipped out her phone. "I needed to know what you know, see if Diaz told you anything of value. Apparently he didn't. And you don't know anything. The FBI doesn't know anything." He smiled and crushed the phone in his hand. "So let's keep it that way."

He nodded to someone behind Watson. Before she could even flinch, a wire went around her neck and pulled tight, biting into her skin. She tried to thrash, turn, alleviate the pressure. Nothing helped. Her hands rattled against the pipe, yanking desperately on the plastic ties to no avail. The sting of the wire intensified. She felt warm liquid run down her neck.

Then a whistle carried through the air, and a piercing screech filled the room. She would've screamed like the other two if she'd had any breath to spend. A moment later, the pressure around her neck vanished, and she was gasping for every choppy breath. The screeching in her ears slowly dissipated as grunts and gunfire filled the air. Suddenly, the pressure around her wrists vanished, and her hands were free. Her eyes darted back and forth as she pressed herself to the ground and crawled toward the edge of the room, seeing muzzle flashes and green fletching in equal measure.

Unconscious or disabled bodies littered the room. Adonis was nowhere to be found. There was the sound of repeated blunt impact from the far side of the room, then everything went quiet.

Watson waited a few seconds in the dark, barely able to see her hand in front of her face. "Arrow?"

"So you're alive."

She jumped and turned to her left. She hadn't even heard him approach. Between the growl in his voice and what little she could see of his face, he was furious.

"What—"

"I owed you for keeping Diaz alive long enough to be interrogated," he interrupted. "Whatever intel he gives up on the Decembrists will be worth the trouble." He snarled. "But we're even now. Far as I'm concerned, you can handle Adonis alone." He smiled venomously. "Good luck with that."

Watson did a double-take as he turned away. "Where the hell is this coming from? You and I have never seen eye to eye, but you were always—"

"That was before you tried to kill my friend!"

She froze, that same deadly chill returning as she saw the glint of his eyes lock onto her.

"First you conned Oliver into taking a bad plea deal, then you failed to finish the job he made that deal for in the first place by letting Richard Dragon escape." Green Arrow bared his teeth and got up in her face. "And then you threw him in gen pop in a prison he helped fill, tried to murder him so he'd never have his day in court and you would never have to answer for your dereliction of duty." He smiled nastily. "You know, I despise bullies more than anyone." He leaned in even closer, enough to feel his breath on her neck. "And you are the worst kind: a bully with a badge. Out of respect for Oliver's principles, I won't kill you for what you've done. But…if Adonis wants you dead, he can have you." He took a step back and sneered. "You aren't nearly useful enough to be worth protecting."

With that, Green Arrow fired an arrow through the skylight above and grappled out onto the roof.

…

Three hours later, Watson was sitting back at city hall with a cup of coffee, surrounded by agents working on a profile for this new threat. One of her chief profilers, Dodson, came up to her with a smirk.

"You're not gonna believe this," he said.

"Try me."

"That alias he used, Tim Stonner?" He handed her a file. "It's an anagram for Simon Trent."

She frowned and glanced up at him before skimming through the documents. "Who's Simon Trent?"

"Retired actor who famously played the lead in a TV series than ran back in the eighties, called The Gray Ghost."

She arched an eyebrow at him, tone sarcastic. "And do we think this actor is our 'Adonis?'"

He chuckled. "No way. Guy's gotta be in his fifties or sixties now. But he was the title character, a masked detective with some dark secrets."

"So, what, the whole time he was just tooling with us?"

Dodson shrugged. "'Genius' masterminds tend to have a pathological superiority complex, leave little hints about who they really are, especially when they insert themselves into investigations. Take the Riddler, for example. It's something they share with serial killers."

"Right. So that's a dead end."

"I can try and dig a little deeper into that legend, but if he was smart enough to play both sides, I doubt I'll find anything useful."

Watson nodded. "Yeah, move on. See if you can get in touch with our ARGUS liaison. We need to know everything they know about the Decembrists, see if we can figure out why they're so damn interested in Star City."

"You got it."

…

Adonis watched the feed of Watson's team with calm satisfaction. Thanks to Green Arrow, a dozen of his men were in federal custody now, but that wouldn't last long. Either she really was as incompetent as Caden seemed to believe, or she hadn't bought his story about having someone inside the bureau. Whatever the case, her inaction worked in his favor.

He touched a tablet at his side, sending a large file over an encrypted connection.

A text message came back over the line. [This is everything I asked for?]

He typed back. [Everything I have on Circe, Black Mask, Achilles, the works. I can narrow your search for the Myrmidons' base of operations, but I don't know the exact coordinates. Ares insisted on operational security] He waited a moment, then added a bit more. [Be careful about how you use this, or one of them's going to catch on to our little partnership.]

A few moments passed before a reply. [Sorry, which of us was born yesterday?]

Adonis snorted. [A year, actually, but I get your point]

[If this pans out, I'll consider looking for what you asked. I'll be in touch]

Adonis sighed. He'd hoped those tokens of goodwill would've bought him a little more trust, but then again, this was Caden Drake. He barely trusted himself…which was probably the main issue—Caden knew exactly how easily he could lie and manipulate. Well, Adonis hadn't expected anything different when he'd hatched this plan. Just meant it would be a little more tedious.

"You didn't mention it was your idea for Sionis to target the kid."

Adonis turned to Fionne, who was leaning against the doorframe of his office. "Didn't think it was prudent."

She nodded. "Aye, but the man punishes liars worse than most…and he doesn't muck around with anyone who goes after kids."

Adonis scoffed. "He's a demigod apprentice of the Batman. Hardly a 'kid.'" His cheer faded quickly. "What Achilles has done, though…"

"Did you include that in the file?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I gave him what was needed to get the job done. If he knows everything, he might hesitate to do what's necessary." His upper lip twitched. "And against that maniac, hesitation is death. If he dies, any chance for our freedom dies with him."

Fionne frowned deeply, arms crossed. "Why do you think he'll help us?"

He threw his hands up. "As I recall, you were in the room when I told him."

Her eyes rolled. "I know you, boss. There's more to it than that."

Adonis sighed hard and leaned back in his chair. "He's alone in this world. The first and last of a new species, blessed and cursed with the ability to see this world, to see humanity for what it is." He met her eyes. "It's a lonely, lonely place."

Fionne pursed her lips and approached him, kneeling at his side. "Not all the time, I hope?"

He met her vibrant hazel green eyes and slowly felt himself smile. "No. Not all the time."

She smiled back and patted his hand, then stood up. "I'll see to it the federal goose chase goes without a hitch."

Adonis gave her a nod. When she left, he found his pipe and spent the next hour contemplating the day and the future over a spot of hashish.

AN: Next chapter begins the Athens operation, with this interesting little complication as the backdrop. For those who are unfamiliar with undercover/espionage terminology, a "legend" is a fabricated profile made for deep cover work, complete with everything you'd find on a real person: education, medical records, job history, etc. Caden's "legend" in this chapter is a reference to the Gray Ghost from Batman the Animated Series, featured in one of my favorite episodes—and could very well mean much more in the story's future.

Hope you enjoyed this one.

Formatting notes:
– Internal Thoughts/Flashback
– "Super-Hearing/Surveillance"
– Telepathy/Divine Speech
– "{Translation}"
– [Text Message]