Chapter 4: Assassin Bonds
The ARGUS alert buzzed in Luke's mind like a relentless wasp, its sting a reminder that he was a fugitive, barred from the Arrowcave's safety for days. The team couldn't risk exposure, not with Lyla Michaels' agents sniffing for his "non-traditional energy signatures." He'd found refuge in a sterile apartment near Queen Consolidated tower, the air sharp with the chemical bite of new paint and synthetic carpeting. The faint hum of the city seeped through the window, a distant pulse of life that felt both comforting and isolating. Luke sprawled on a creaky couch, a half-eaten protein bar in hand, its wrapper crinkling as he fidgeted, the chalky taste lingering like a bad decision. Fugitive life: zero stars. At least the view's decent. He glanced at the skyline, the tower's glass reflecting the morning's gray light, his reflection a tired ghost staring back. His stomach growled, but he ignored it, brushing crumbs off his shirt with a grimace. Gotta keep some normalcy. Date with Sara's my lifeline today.
He stood, stretching, his joints popping like a cheap sparkler, and fished a crumpled energy drink from his bag, the can cold against his palm. The aluminum hissed as he cracked it open, the sharp tang of citrus hitting his nose. Liquid courage for a date with an assassin. The System pinged, a welcome jolt that cut through his nerves, its interface glowing in his mind like a beacon.
[SYSTEM: DAILY ROLL ACTIVATED: MANTIS EMPATHY (FACE 5)]
[SYSTEM: POWER ACTIVATED: EMOTIONAL SENSING. STAMINA DRAIN: LOW]
Empathy. Not a brawler's dream, but perfect for reading a guilt-ridden assassin. Luke smirked, taking a sip, the drink fizzing on his tongue. He imagined navigating Sara's guarded heart, catching her micro-reactions, maybe even landing a quip to crack her armor. If I can sense her, I might dodge her walls—or at least her knives. His fingers drummed the can, a nervous tic, as he checked his phone, the screen's glow harsh in the dim room. No messages. Just me and the city's chaos.
The high-end café was a sensory overload—dark roasted coffee blending with the sweet hum of pastries, the clatter of cups and low hum of conversation filling the air. Sara sat across from him, her leather jacket hugging her frame, blonde hair catching the light like spun gold. Her beauty was striking, but her tension was a near-visible shroud, her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm on her mug, her blue eyes scanning the room like a predator's. Luke's empathy kicked in, a cold prickle washing over him—sharp, predatory intent slicing through the café's ambient chatter, not from Sara but from somewhere else. We're not alone.
"We've got company," Luke murmured, sipping his espresso, the bitter heat grounding him as he leaned back, feigning ease.
Sara's eyes narrowed, her hand drifting to her waist, where a blade was no doubt hidden beneath her jacket. "Amateurs. They never learn."
Luke stretched, his casual movement a cover as he activated Falcon Flight subtly, not to move but to lift his perspective. His body stayed seated, but his senses soared, scanning the rooftop line across the bustling street, the city's pulse throbbing below—honks, chatter, the faint screech of tires.
[SYSTEM: FLIGHT SPOTS SCOUTS.]
[SYSTEM: MASTERY UPDATE: FALCON FLIGHT +8%]
"Two of them. League of Assassins scouts. Bad posture, worse vibes. Block away, watching the street," Luke whispered, his voice low, a grin masking his racing heart. "Guess they're not fans of your dating profile."
Sara's lips twitched, a wry smile breaking through, her fingers pausing on her mug. "The League doesn't swipe right on anything that doesn't bleed."
Luke's empathy caught a shift—cold rage and territoriality radiating from the scouts, their emotions spiking like a warning flare. They're not just watching. They're moving. His heart thudded, but he kept his face neutral, stirring his coffee with a clink.
[SYSTEM: STAT UPDATE: AGILITY +2 (EVASION TACTICS).]
"Coffee's on me. We're out," Luke said, standing with a stretch, his voice light but his eyes sharp. "Date's getting a fight scene upgrade, Canary."
Sara tossed her napkin onto the table, her movements fluid, her smirk sharp. "You're buying dinner too, then, Cupid."
They slipped out the café's back exit, weaving through a maze of alleyways, the air heavy with damp brick and stale beer. Sara moved like a shadow, her assassin training evident in her silent, precise steps, her boots barely touching the wet cobblestones. Luke was less graceful, his sneakers skidding slightly, but Falcon Flight's subtle lift kept him balanced, a faint breeze ruffling his hair. Thank you, Sam Wilson, for making me look cooler than I am. He ducked under a low pipe, his shoulder brushing Sara's, a fleeting spark of connection in the chaos. Focus, Luke. No flirting mid-chase.
The scouts caught up near a deserted shipping warehouse, its rusted walls casting long, jagged shadows under a flickering sodium lamp, the air thick with the tang of metal and sea salt from the nearby docks. Luke's pulse raced, his sarcasm a thin shield against his nerves. Date night: alley brawl edition. Classic. He adjusted his grip on his bag, the weight of his gear grounding him.
The first scout lunged at Sara, a short blade glinting in the dim light, his movements jerky but fierce. Sara parried with a dancer's grace, her boot scuffing the gravel as she countered, her breath steady. Luke didn't hesitate, yanking his custom compound bow—a Gadgeteer creation—from his pack, its sleek frame humming faintly. His fingers brushed the bowstring, the familiar weight steadying his shaking hands.
[SYSTEM: ARCHERY DISARMS.]
[SYSTEM: POWER ACTIVATED: UNERRING AIM. STAMINA DRAIN: MODERATE]
The arrow sang, striking the scout's wrist at the precise tendon, the blade clattering to the ground as he howled, clutching his hand. Luke's chest tightened, the effort burning through his stamina like wildfire.
"Sorry, arrow therapy's mandatory before you stab my date!" Luke yelled, his grin shaky, sweat beading on his forehead as he notched another arrow.
Sara seized the moment, her fist cracking against the scout's skull, dropping him like a broken toy. Her eyes flicked to Luke, a mix of gratitude and amusement, her breath visible in the cold air. "Nice shot, Cupid. Keep up."
The second scout, realizing his edge was gone, hurled a black pellet to the ground, a plume of acrid smoke erupting, stinging Luke's throat like a swarm of angry hornets. Poison gas. Cute. His regeneration surged, a thousand tiny shocks sparking in his chest, burning away the toxins, the effort leaving him dizzy.
[SYSTEM: REGENERATION TANKS POISON. STAMINA DRAIN: HIGH.]
Sara coughed, dropping to one knee, her face paling, her hands clawing at her throat. "Can't breathe!"
Luke's heart lurched, his vision blurring as he flung out his hand, orange light flaring like a sunrise. A shimmering shield enveloped Sara, a miniature Sanctum Sanctorum glowing in the dark, its edges pulsing faintly. The smoke swirled harmlessly around it, unable to penetrate.
[SYSTEM: MAGIC SHIELD SARA. +15 EP. STAMINA DRAIN: CRITICAL.]
Luke faced the second scout, his bow raised, his body trembling from the drain. The scout's comms device blinked red, a warning pulse. Calling in backup. Fantastic. Luke's aim steadied, Hawkeye's instinct guiding his fist to the scout's temple, dropping him cold. He dissolved the shield, Sara scrambling out, coughing but recovering, her eyes wide with something raw—fear, gratitude, connection.
"You saved me," she whispered, her voice rough, her hands still shaking as she brushed hair from her face. "That poison would've ended me."
Luke leaned against a crate, his legs jelly, his breath ragged in the cold air. "You looked like you needed a force field. Date with danger—five stars, right?" His quip was weak, exhaustion dragging at his voice, his fingers fumbling with his bow.
[SYSTEM: STAMINA DRAIN: CRITICAL.]
He let empathy flow, not to manipulate but to understand, his senses reaching for Sara. Her fear wasn't of the fight—it was of the bond his save had forged, a tether she wasn't ready to embrace.
[SYSTEM: EMPATHY ON SARA: FEAR OF ATTACHMENT/RETRIBUTION (HIGH).]
"You don't get to run from this, Sara. From us," Luke said, his voice soft but firm, his breath visible in the chill. "You're allowed to be saved."
"I bring death," she said, her voice heavy, eyes tracing the gravel, her fingers tightening around her baton.
"Then I bring magic shields. We balance it out," Luke countered, forcing a tired grin, his hand brushing hers briefly, a spark of warmth in the cold.
He closed his eyes, ghost form flickering to check for tails, the world dulling to grayscale. The alley was clear, the night silent except for the distant hum of the city, the sodium lamp buzzing faintly.
[SYSTEM: GHOST CHECKS TAILS: NEGATIVE.]
[SYSTEM: MASTERY UPDATE: GHOST SCOUT +12% (FATIGUE RESISTANT).]
They walked back to the street, their footsteps echoing in sync, a quiet bond forged in the shared adrenaline. Sara's shoulder brushed his, a fleeting gesture heavy with meaning. Luke's legs ached, his body begging for rest, but he kept moving, the city's pulse urging him forward. At the corner, a dark sedan pulled up, its engine a low growl. Oliver stepped out, his green leather creaking, his face shadowed under his hood. In the passenger seat sat Thea Queen, her dark hair framing her face, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the window. Her smile was wrong—cold, predatory, a mirror of Isabel Rochev's icy control, sending a shiver down Luke's spine.
Oliver's voice was sharp, cutting through the night. "We need to move."
Sara hesitated, her gaze flicking to Luke, her fingers twitching as if reaching for something lost. "I should go."
"Wait." Luke grabbed her arm, his empathy zeroing in on Thea, pushing past the surface noise of annoyance and concern. A void hit him, a hollow absence where Thea's vibrant energy should have been, like a flame snuffed out.
[SYSTEM: EMPATHY DETECTS ANOMALY: THEA QUEEN. EMOTIONAL VOID (CRITICAL).]
"Something's wrong with Thea," Luke whispered, his voice tight, his heart racing. "She feels… hollow."
Sara's eyes widened, catching his urgency, her hand lingering on his arm. The League's pursuit was done, but Thea's wrongness was a new thread, weaving Isabel's corporate schemes into the Queen family's secrets. Luke's fingers tightened around the energy drink can, crushing it, the metal crumpling in his grip. We stopped a fight, but this is bigger—mind control, corporate games, and a puppet wearing Thea's face. Time to dig deeper.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
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