Technical Assistance

Chapter 39: Physical Memory Dump

Felicity has never thought much about sounds. They’re simply background and interaction with the world, something that she’s come to expect in her life that can mean a myriad of different things. They’re loud and startling sometimes, quiet and gentle during others, but never too much to think about for too long.

She’s heard the phrase about having “a sound go through you,” of course, but she’s never experienced it until the poor-sound-quality gunshot rings out through the speakers on her computer, drowning out Oliver and all the other sounds playing around her. She might as well have been shot herself for the effect it has on her; everything goes cold and eerily silent for a moment as she realizes the man on screen—the man she was supposed to be saving—was alive a moment ago, but now dead. For a moment, all she can do is stare, the word “no” resounding loudly in her head as she hopes that in a moment she’ll wake up and this can all be a nightmare.

But then Tommy says her name—quietly, carefully, but at the same time a call to action—and she realizes that this isn’t a dream or hallucination. Suddenly the air seems to be sucked out of the room, an eerie quiet falling over them. She can’t stay any longer, can’t deal with this. Almost as though someone set her switch to autopilot, she pulls the headset from her ear, stands almost robotically and manages to put one foot in front of the other. For some reason, she goes for the club exit instead of the one that leads outside, and the thumping bass makes her realize it almost immediately.

She frowns, deciding that maybe she should retreat into Oliver’s office in the club and call Barry. She needs to talk to someone about this… thing that happened tonight, before she breaks down. But then she realizes that both her cell phone and the keys to Oliver’s office are in the lair, and she didn’t have the foresight to grab either one.

Instead of retreating back downstairs—she can’t go back there, not yet—she decides to go for the upper level for the first time. The noise makes it hard for her to think, and she wants to be suitably numb for a while, in a place where Tommy or Digg or whomever won’t think to look for her. She’ll collapse when she gets home, in the privacy of her own shower or bedroom, but for right now, she needs to keep it together. The blaring music makes thought almost impossible—makes her head throb in a way she doesn’t mind—and she decides to take a seat at one of the back tables on the second floor, hidden in the shadows where the laser lights don’t quite reach.

She slides onto the stool, just sitting there for a long moment with the bass so loud it makes her throb. Sighing, Felicity pulls the elastic out of her hair to help soothe her pounding head, sets her glasses on the table in front of her so she can rub at her tired eyes. She thinks of nothing but the music resonating in her head, soothing in an odd way that borders on meditative. After a long moment, she decides she could get used to doing this after really bad nights.

Felicity jumps when a voice calls over the synthesized beat, “Hey, what can I get you?” Startled, she looks up, and Roy’s eyes widen in recognition a moment after her surprise wears off. She doesn’t know what she expects, but it’s certainly not for him to slide onto the stool across from hers, just sitting and studying her for a moment. “You okay, Blondie?” he asks carefully, regarding her as though she’s a ticking bomb that might start crying at any moment, God forbid. “Because I’m going to be honest with you—you don’t look okay.”

“Bad night,” she answers, telling him as much of the truth as she can manage. She doesn’t want to lie to Roy—they’re so similar in upbringing, and he might be the closest thing she has to Barry right now. But still, he can’t know all of the truth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He turns himself to the side slightly, as though he’s about to leave. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks slowly. It’s a genuine offer; if she wants him to go, he’ll leave, probably because he understands that sometimes people need to be alone. Maybe he’s even come to want to be alone over the years, and Felicity can’t fault him for that. His interactions with people probably have been more negative than positive—God knows hers have, too.