Smoke and Mirrors

On Borrowed Time

As she struggles against the restraints, Felicity admits this doesn't look good. Granted she's never been a hostage before, nor has she ever been beaten for information, but she isn't sure she has to be an expert to know things are going to shit. While she knows she's more stubborn than they are, that isn't exactly a good thing for her health. Then again, too many crime dramas during her college to years tell her that if she can see their faces, they're probably going to kill her anyway.

Well, if she's dead, she's going to die with some dignity.

"Where is the drive?" Gigantor demands in his gravelly voice again, like the villain in some old Bond movie. Blood drips off his knuckles as a sickening feeling rises in her mouth, and she has to force herself not to ralph. It will only land on her clothes, and she is not going to die in her own vomit, thank you very much.

When she spits, it's too thick to be just saliva. The wad of blood lands right on Gigantor's shoe, and she couldn't have planned it better if she tried. A tooth also glints in the low light. Well, at least that explains the blood.

A dark lock of hair falls into her face as she sits back. "Look, Mr. Bad Guy," she replies with a bravado she doesn't feel, "I'm not going to tell you a damn thing. So if you want the information, good luck trying to break through my encryptions and my safety measures." Her black lips twist into a sinister smile. "I write security software for a living, so I hope you're good."

"I don't want the information, Miss Smoak," he replies.

"So formal," she quips without thinking. "Since you've thrown a few punches and even broken out one of my teeth, I think we're close enough you can call me Felicity."

That earns her a punch to the face that makes her chair topple with the force of it.

For a moment, Felicity can only see stars. Slowly the room stops spinning and she can already feel her eye starting to swell. Not that it matters. She's probably going to die tonight, but the whole point is to stall for time. A glance through the window shows her nothing but darkness. Good. Maybe she's bought Curtis enough time.

She sighs. Curtis is going to be pissed when he finds out about this. At least he'll be able to say I told you so at her funeral. He told her that this story ran too deep into the rabbit hole, that it would only end in her death. But of course she didn't listen—because the truth deserves its day—and her morals had to put her in pursuit of a conspiracy to destroy the city. Maybe that conspiracy theory blog of hers, Smoke and Mirrors (the name is cheesy, but sixteen-year-old her thought it was clever), wasn't as good an idea as she thought in college.

Really, she should have backed off the moment she saw the names on that list. Her source—a not-so-anonymous person whose IP address comes from inside her company, Queen Consolidated—emailed her a little black book of names not so long ago, with references to a mysterious corporation called Tempest and pictures of a salvaged ship that should be at the bottom of the ocean. There's something else going on, something involving some of the most powerful people in the city, and Felicity is going to find out what the hell it is. But once again her curiosity has nearly gotten the better of her.

Which is why she's tied to a chair in a warehouse.

"Good job, Smoak," she mutters to herself.

Gigantor tilts her chair back up. "I don't need the information," he growls at her, fanning hot breath over her face. Felicity tries not to gag; breath mints are too cheap for his mouth to smell that bad. If he wasn't using her as a punching bag, she might have suggested some oral hygiene tips. "I need to keep the information from getting out." This time, something cold presses against the underside of her jaw. The clicking that follows confirms her fears: gun. "If you tell me, I might even let you live."