Well now — once was chance, twice was tolerance. But three times? That was just asking for it.
The first time Thea had flown near their camp, the thugs had dismissed her as a curiosity.
The second time, they'd decided she wasn't worth the trouble and let her go.
But when she returned a third time? Even the most patient of crooks had their limits.
They weren't all brain-dead goons, either. Among the mob were a few self-styled "geniuses" — ex-military, ex-engineers, men who fancied themselves tactical masterminds.
Within an hour, they had reinforced the perimeter, tightened guard rotations, turned on every floodlight in the compound, and even rigged up a few portable radars.
So the moment Thea's board sliced through the clouds above them, she was spotted.
But she didn't panic. Not even close.
At an altitude of over two hundred meters, she looked down at the scurrying figures below as if watching ants on pavement. Her bow was useless from this range — and throwing explosives was out of the question.
She wasn't exactly a paragon of virtue, but blowing up a few hundred hostages would probably get her a red flag in every database on Earth.
Down below, the gangsters were equally helpless. Gotham's underworld wasn't exactly known for its access to high-tech anti-aircraft weaponry. Most of the city's funding went into "mental health initiatives" — or, as the locals called it, rehabilitating lunatics.
A rocket launcher was a luxury item here.
Heat-seeking missiles? Forget it.
All they could do was shake their rifles and fire blindly into the night sky, shouting obscenities that vanished into the wind.
Some tried something cleverer — pressing gun barrels to hostages' heads and yelling through megaphones:
"Come down, or we start shooting!"
Thea only rolled her eyes. You've watched too many movies.
"I'm not your friendly neighborhood hero, idiots," she muttered to herself. "You shoot them, you shoot them. I don't even know these people. Hell, if you off Robin, I'll give you thirty seconds of silence and call it a night."
She continued circling lazily above them, studying the layout.
The camp was chaos — a rabble of tattooed, pierced, leather-clad men. No uniforms, no structure, but strangely good equipment.
Every one of them wore crisp U.S. military fatigues, which immediately raised her suspicion.
Had they robbed a federal armory? Or hijacked a National Guard convoy?
Still, she saw no one important.
Not a single lieutenant, no recognizable leader — just faceless cannon fodder.
Where Robin had been last seen, the area was now empty except for a few hostages being corralled together. Thea sighed. Sorry, kid. I tried. May whatever god you believe in handle the rest.
She was about to turn back when she spotted movement at the camp's edge — a lone figure wandering toward the trees, fumbling with his belt.
Really? In the middle of a crisis?
Her first thought: bait.
Sure enough, a quick sweep through her infrared goggles revealed nearly ten heat signatures crouched nearby, perfectly still.
A poorly hidden ambush.
She smirked. "How thoughtful of you to send me a souvenir."
Her hoverboard had yet to show its full speed tonight. The thugs below, having only seen her drift earlier, probably assumed it moved no faster than a car.
That miscalculation was about to cost them dearly.
Thea angled upward, looping silently around the perimeter. Then, in one fluid motion, she dove.
The board roared, climbing past 300 kilometers per hour.
Below, the ambushers crouched, waiting for her silhouette to pass overhead so they could spring their trap.
Instead, she came from the opposite direction.
Two of them panicked and bolted from cover, clutching their rifles.
They froze halfway through the motion — realizing they had no idea what to do next.
Their comrades hissed, "Get back! Get back!"
Too late.
Thea was already on top of them.
Her board — originally a modified rescue device — carried two retractable steel cables under each wing. One had been used earlier to drag the Gordons to safety; the other was still intact.
She fired it now.
The chain snapped forward, ending in a spike of gleaming alloy. It wasn't her design — it came standard on the board's prototype — but it was built to pierce rock, not flesh.
Once embedded, three clawed anchors automatically deployed to ensure the line never slipped.
The "decoy," still struggling to decide whether to zip his pants or draw his weapon, barely saw a blur before the spike buried itself in his shoulder with a wet thunk.
He had just enough time to twitch before blacking out completely.
"Yup," Thea muttered as she looped the chain around, "definitely not as sturdy as a boulder."
Within seconds she was airborne again, dragging the limp captive behind her as the stunned gunmen shouted and fired wildly into the trees.
To avoid leading them back to A.R.G.U.S.'s hideout, Thea took the long route — looping halfway across Gotham before finally descending toward the safe house.
When she touched down, agents rushed out, their faces a mix of awe and horror.
She yanked off her mask and tossed the unconscious man onto the floor with a dull thud.
"Here," she said curtly. "One live prisoner. See if you can make him talk."
The man was a wreck. Half his body was crimson with frozen blood, the other half pale from shock. Only the freezing night air — and the thin layer of ice sealing his wounds — had kept him alive at all.
Lyla entered moments later.
She'd seen worse. Much worse. Still, she didn't waste time gawking.
"Get the medics in. Hit him with adrenaline, max dose. I want him conscious within two minutes. If he dies afterward, I don't care — I want answers now."
Thea folded her arms, silently watching.
She was furious — not at the prisoner specifically, but at whoever had orchestrated the entire attack. She'd nearly been gassed, half her friends poisoned, and all for what?
Her eyes narrowed. Someone is going to pay for this.
The man's eyelids fluttered. He moaned weakly.
"Bring the sodium thiopental," Lyla ordered coldly. "Two pounds' worth."
The agents exchanged glances. That was… a lot.
Lyla didn't blink. "You heard me. We'll use the truth serum. I want every secret he's got before he stops breathing."
Even Thea winced slightly.
She'd seen interrogations before — but with Lyla in charge, this one was about to get very unpleasant.