Arrow - A Generation of Vipers Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also Available from Titan Books

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  A GENERATION

  OF VIPERS

  ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS:

  ARROW: VENGEANCE

  by Oscar Balderrama and Lauren Certo

  And the prequel to

  Arrow: A Generation of Vipers:

  FLASH: THE HAUNTING OF BARRY ALLEN

  by Clay and Susan Griffith

  A GENERATION

  OF VIPERS

  Clay Griffith and Susan Griffith

  TITAN BOOKS

  ARROW: A GENERATION OF VIPERS

  Print edition ISBN: 9781783294855

  E-book edition ISBN: 9781783295791

  Published by Titan Books

  A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

  144 Southwark St, London SE1 0UP

  First edition: March 2017

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2017 Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. Copyright © 2017 DC Comics. ARROW and all related characters and elements are trademarks of and © DC Comics. WB SHIELD TM & © Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc. (s17)

  TIBO3917

  Visit our website: www.titanbooks.com

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  A GENERATION

  OF VIPERS

  1

  My name is Oliver Queen. I lived a life of privilege before I found myself trapped in a merciless jungle for five years. I learned to survive and returned to the real world. But until I help others survive too, I will remain in that jungle.

  * * *

  The Green Arrow followed the latest-model SUV. It drove under the speed limit and did nothing to draw attention. Despite the blacked-out windows, he knew there were four men inside, and they were heavily armed.

  He crunched over the gravel rooftop to the edge and peered down at the dimly lit road below. The SUV paused at an intersection as if debating direction.

  “Right,” Green Arrow murmured to himself.

  The SUV turned right as he predicted. He waited for it to pass by ten stories below before firing a cable arrow to the building across the street. He swung out high over the empty pavement and hit the building on the opposite side with his feet at just the right angle to minimize the impact. Climbing to the roof, he sprinted to the opposite side in time to see the black SUV pull to a stop right below him, as expected.

  Most of the buildings on this street were dark. Windows were broken and some boarded up. Streetlights had been restored so the car doors opened and four men emerged into pools of yellow. They wore black fatigues with dark stocking caps. Two of them pulled heavy assault rifles from the backseat. The other two drew pistols from holsters.

  Green Arrow mapped his steps. The two Pistols would go inside the building. He would rappel down to the street. Flash-bangs for the two Rifles. Blunt arrows would put them down. By then, the Pistols would turn to the noise. He’d take cover behind the SUV. The Pistols would come out guns blazing—these types liked to come out guns blazing. It should be simple to take them both down as they hit the door. Certainly the unexpected could happen, but he trusted himself to manage the scene and react properly.

  The cold autumn wind ruffled Green Arrow’s hood. This was reminiscent of the old days when he fought alone.

  A shudder of excitement passed through him. He almost smiled with nostalgia, but he didn’t do that sort of thing. Those early days had been simple, although they hadn’t seemed that way at the time. Before the partners. Before the team. Before the names: the Hood, the Vigilante, the Arrow, and now the Green Arrow. Tonight he had nothing to depend on except himself, and no one to protect except himself.

  Alone. The hunter and his prey.

  There were no voices in his ear feeding him information. No eyes in the sky tracking his targets. No one in a command center watching his back, protecting his flanks.

  This was not his jungle. While he knew his home of Star City like an animal knew its hunting grounds, Central City was still new to him.

  When an army of metahumans ran roughshod over Central City last week, the city’s protector, the Flash, had been overwhelmed enough to ask Green Arrow to join the fight to bring down the metahumans. But the situation had proven worse than metahuman criminals.

  The Flash was losing his powers, and the process was killing Barry Allen, the man behind the mask.

  Arrow checked the time.

  Barry would be undergoing a “procedure” right now in hope of healing his illness. That was why Green Arrow was patrolling the streets of Central City without support from the team at S.T.A.R. Labs who were helping Barry. Criminals didn’t keep convenient schedules.

  Far below, the Pistols went to the front of the building. The faint sound of glass breaking tinkled in the air. Green Arrow counted to five to let the Pistols get well inside the shop. He drew a metal rod about six inches long from a loop on his tunic. A touch fired the tip hard into the concrete at his feet. He tugged once to test the anchor, and leapt over the side.

  The high-pitched whine of the polymer cable playing out accompanied the sight of windows flashing upward. His boots touched the sidewalk in near silence. Releasing the device, he snatched a high-tech compound bow off his shoulder, pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, and fired. A white flash shocked the air and a sharp snap traveled through his body. He was prepared for it; the two riflemen were not.

  They doubled over, twisting away, stunned. Two blunt-tipped arrows flew at them, impacting chest and upper back with audible thumps. The black-fatigued men crumpled to the asphalt street.

  A pistol shot exploded behind him accompanied by glass flying out from the shop windows. Something small buzzed past Green Arrow’s head. He dropped as another shot fired and the windshield of the SUV behind him exploded. He rolled toward the street. Heavy bullets gouged chunks of concrete out of the sidewalk. The bottom of the open driver’s door passed over him and he sprang to his feet, pressing his back to the SUV. The two gunmen inside the shop
were closer to the front than he had anticipated. They carried .50 caliber Desert Eagle semiautomatics.

  Typical. These guys hadn’t come for a fight, but they’d brought cannons anyway.

  Two jagged holes blasted through the driver’s door. Green Arrow pulled another shaft and pressed back against the open driver’s seat, sheltering behind the wheel. The engine block would give him temporary cover. Half the door ripped away. The men were trashing their own transportation, which was stupid. However, they weren’t rushing out like Butch and Sundance, which was smart. They were using cover and their firepower.

  The front of the vehicle rocked when several slugs pounded into it. Steam geysered up from the punctured radiator. Green Arrow leaned around the door, brought up the arrow, and let it fly through the empty front window of the store. A heavy whoomp preceded a cloud of tear gas billowing up inside the shop.

  One man stumbled out into the clear air, trailing spirals of smoke. He coughed and gagged, covering his face with one arm, and fired wildly into the air, unable to control the massive pistol with one hand. Bullets flew in all directions, smashing windows high above, cracking the sidewalk, and punching more holes in the SUV.

  Green Arrow drew and shot just as a bullet ripped off another hunk of the door next to him. A jagged piece of steel punched into his Kevlar and bounced to the asphalt. The tranq arrow hit the gunman solid in the thigh to avoid probable body armor on his torso. The weakening man squeezed off another booming round that spun him around and threw him to the ground. He scrubbed at his face, trying to get back to his feet, before stumbling flat against the cement.

  The archer continued to study the smoke roiling out of the storefront for signs of the last gunman. No motion visible from inside. The gunfire had ceased. Green Arrow slipped in a crouch around the rear of the SUV. He paused to kick an assault rifle across the street out of the reach of one of the black-suited men who was groaning and fighting to recover.

  Green Arrow inched up along the passenger’s side of the vehicle; gunfire exploded from the shop again. He dove inside the rear door. Thundering blasts from the pistol ripped through a fender and exploded a front tire. One of the headrests exploded in chunks of foam and the rear window blew out.

  The archer pulled an arrow and pressed the bottom of his boot against the running board. Launching himself away from the vehicle, he flew low over the ground, nocking and firing. The shaft burrowed through the smoke and disappeared into the shop. Green Arrow hit, bounced, and rolled.

  Booming shots blasted out of the tear gas and whipped past the archer as he came to his feet and scrambled toward the shop. He leapt into the air and somersaulted, feeling something tug at his tunic. Arrow slammed against the wall, recovered his feet, and spun to aim an arrow toward the shop window.

  He waited.

  In a second, someone was going to die.

  2

  “Okay, Barry, we’re going to activate the magnetic field and see how the plasma reacts.”

  Barry Allen stood inside a ring of huge equipment, a modest version of the S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator that made him the Flash. He wore his red costume, and a circular piece of machinery was clamped to his chest.

  Barry was the Flash.

  He was the fastest man alive.

  Well, that was debatable, because he’d met other speedsters who were faster. However, they were from the future or another Earth, so Barry still made his claim with confidence. That is, until recently.

  Several weeks ago, Barry started to experience issues with his speed powers. He began to vibrate at a different frequency from reality, quite literally, sometimes for a few seconds, sometimes longer. The cause of the phenomenon turned out to be an anomalous energy in his body, temporal plasma he had acquired while shutting down a destructive singularity that had opened over Central City months ago.

  Being the Flash meant Barry Allen reacted fast. Being Barry Allen meant the Flash was particularly susceptible to the fear of losing those closest to him. Those emotions were killing him. When under stress, neurotransmitter biochemicals coursed through his body, primarily cortisol, as they did to anyone. He was different, however, in that he was the host to an anomalous plasma that was destroying him. The cortisol rush was the very thing that activated the plasma which then used the Flash’s speed force for fuel to spread and overtake his body.

  Two other people worked keyboards at a nearby workstation. Cisco Ramon, the young engineer who had spoken, in jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed will work for karma. His long black hair was shoved behind his ears. Caitlin Snow, doctor and biochemist, was similarly young but more professional and restrained in appearance. They both tried unsuccessfully to hide hints of concern on their faces.

  “So what’s the best we can hope for?” Barry asked.

  “The best,” Cisco answered, “is that the magnetic field will attract the plasma, pull it out of your system, and funnel it out of your body through that inertial channel on your chest. We will capture and contain it in the magnetic mirrors surrounding you.”

  Caitlin glanced at her bio-readouts. “Barry, your heart rate is rising.”

  He took deep calming breaths. Be still. Breathe. He heard Oliver’s instructions in his head.

  “Better,” she reported.

  “Let’s see what happens,” Barry called out. “Ready when you are.”

  “This may sting a little.” Cisco winced and pressed a key.

  Barry screamed.

  He imagined every cell in his body rupturing, exploding in a burst of fire. The horrific scraping in his brain eclipsed the sound of his own screeching lungs. The image of Cisco and Caitlin wavered through ripples of air that could have been heat or could have been the severing of reality, the rupture of the dimension.

  Barry experienced the numbing terror of a loss of certainty, having transported beyond the agony with no idea where he was. He couldn’t feel or understand anything.

  * * *

  “Barry!”

  He heard his name from somewhere.

  “Oh my God. Barry. Wake up. Barry!”

  A cool sensation slid into him, jostling his attention.

  Bright light. A dark shape suddenly blocked it. Eyes stared at him. Frightened eyes.

  Barry told the shape to move.

  “I think he’s coming around.”

  Caitlin appeared out of the darkness. She held a syringe dripping something from the glowing tip of the needle. Cisco’s face pushed in next to her.

  “Did it work?” Barry mumbled.

  “Um… no.” Cisco grinned with relief that Barry was talking. “It didn’t work a lot.”

  “Plasma still there?” Barry slurred.

  “Still there. All we did was agitate it.”

  “Yeah, I felt it.”

  “We’ll know more later.” Caitlin spread Barry’s eyelids and shined a bright light into his eyes. “When we examine the results.” Her face looked more pensive than usual.

  Barry flexed his fingers and toes. Feeling was returning. He smiled, or thought he did. A slight tilt of his head showed him the familiar med bay of S.T.A.R. Labs.

  “How long have I been out?” he asked.

  “Not long.” Caitlin straightened and checked a saline bag that was nearly empty. “Ten minutes.”

  Barry raised his arm to see the IV needle taped into his hand. His skin was red and blistered.

  “I’m burned.”

  “Yes,” Caitlin said. “Thank God nothing life-threatening. And you do still have a small bit of your healing factor active, so the worst will pass. But it’s going to hurt for a while.”

  “So the magnetic field agitated the plasma.” Barry started to sit up but felt Caitlin’s hand on his chest. “Maybe if we used more power—”

  “No!” Caitlin exclaimed.

  “Yeah, that’s not happening.” Cisco stood back and crossed his arms.

  “But we got a reaction,” Barry said.

  “We did,” Cisco replied. “But the plasma seems to
have bonded to your speed force. It’s using your power. If we zapped it with enough energy to drive it into our electromagnetic channel, you couldn’t survive it. So, yes, we could use more energy to remove the plasma, but there wouldn’t be a Barry left behind.”

  “That’s not optimal.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Caitlin folded her stethoscope. “But we have other options. Felicity is working her angle in Star City for the Markovian technology. And you have the meditative techniques that Oliver is teaching you.”

  “Right. Be more zen.”

  Caitlin pulled up his sleeves and pointed to his arms.

  “When I was fixing the IV, I saw this. How long have you had it?”

  Barry looked at her in confusion until his gaze followed hers. Long black streaks twisted along the length of his arm like veins.

  They were veins. His veins.

  The shock on his face must have been plain.

  “I gather they’re new then.” Caitlin kept her face neutral, as any doctor worth her salt would, so she didn’t alarm her patient. He lifted his shirt and saw the telltale dark lines stretching across the skin of his abdomen.

  “Crap. It’s getting worse. I thought we were slowing it down.”

  “We are,” Caitlin replied. “If we had done nothing, I’m not sure you’d be here talking to us. I’ll run more tests on you and we’ll see what new information it gives us.”

  “How much longer do you think I have?”

  “That’s not a question we’re asking,” she snapped. Then she settled and said, “Just don’t stop what you’re doing. Every second you buy me is time we can use to find a cure.”

  Barry nodded.

  “Right.” Cisco hefted the magnetic channel. “I’ll get this thing working so it doesn’t rip your atoms apart.”

  “Sounds fantastic.” Barry sighed and flopped back into his pillow. “I liked it better when I just ran fast and hit guys to solve my problems.”

  “Good times.” Cisco nodded in agreement.

  “And we’ll have them again,” Caitlin assured them both as she strode from the room. “I have no intention of letting this damn plasma take someone else I care about.”