Chapter 17: Oliver's Offer
The arrow embedded in Ben's door frame was almost polite this time—a note attached reading "Foundry, midnight, come alone."
Ben stared at the message while his Prescience offered contradictory readings. Blue afterimages showed him walking into the abandoned factory, but they were fuzzy, indistinct, like his power couldn't quite process what was waiting for him there. Not danger, exactly, but something that would fundamentally change his situation in ways his enhanced foresight struggled to calculate.
"Oliver Queen wants to talk. After the gym incident, after I revealed my abilities publicly, he's ready to make contact. This is the moment where I either become part of Team Arrow or become a target for elimination. And I won't know which until I'm already committed to the conversation."
The foundry squatted in Starling City's industrial district like a monument to abandoned dreams, its broken windows and rust-stained walls speaking to decades of economic decline. Ben approached through side streets, using techniques Sin had taught him about moving through dangerous neighborhoods without attracting attention. His Prescience remained stubbornly quiet, offering no warnings about immediate threats but no reassurances either.
The main entrance hung open, darkness beyond that felt deliberately inviting. Ben stepped inside and found himself in a space that had been transformed from industrial decay into something that looked almost like a command center. Computer screens glowed in the shadows, weapons racks lined the walls, and training equipment suggested someone had been preparing for war.
"Ben Hale."
Oliver Queen stepped into the light, and Ben felt his breath catch. No hood this time, no electronic voice modulator—just the face he recognized from news coverage and charity galas, wearing the kind of expression that suggested decisions had already been made.
"Oliver Queen," Ben replied, proud that his voice remained steady. "Though I suppose that's not the name most people in the Glades know you by."
"Most people in the Glades don't punch trained assassins through brick walls."
A second figure emerged from the shadows—tall, dark-skinned, with the bearing of someone who'd seen combat and learned to carry its weight without letting it break him. Military, Ben recognized, even before Oliver made introductions.
"John Diggle. My partner."
Diggle nodded but kept his distance, hands positioned where he could reach concealed weapons if the conversation went badly. Professional paranoia, not personal hostility. Ben appreciated the distinction.
"You wanted to talk," Ben said, settling into a position that kept his back to a wall and his exit routes clear. "I'm listening."
Oliver moved to a bank of computer monitors, calling up files that made Ben's stomach clench with recognition. Security footage from the gym attack. Financial records showing Ben's cash-only lifestyle. Witness statements from multiple incidents where Ben had been present during Hood operations.
"Three months ago, Ben Hale appeared in Starling City with no digital footprint, no verifiable history, and a skill set that doesn't match his claimed background. Since then, he's been present at numerous crime scenes, always managing to avoid danger through what looks like impossible timing."
"He's done his homework. Of course he has. Oliver Queen didn't survive five years in hell by leaving loose ends uninvestigated."
"Two days ago, he displayed metahuman abilities that suggest he can manipulate kinetic energy in ways that violate several fundamental laws of physics. He defeated a League of Assassins operative in single combat, something that should be impossible for anyone without years of specialized training."
Oliver turned from the monitors to face Ben directly. "I know what it's like to be someone other than who you used to be. I know what it's like to carry secrets that could destroy the people you care about if they ever came to light. And I know what it's like to fight a war that nobody else understands is happening."
The words hit harder than Ben had expected. Oliver was offering understanding, recognition, the possibility of not carrying his burdens alone. But it was also a test—a probe to see how Ben would respond to someone who claimed to recognize a kindred spirit.
"What do you want from me?" Ben asked.
"Partnership. Starling City's threats are escalating beyond what conventional methods can handle. I need someone who can break the rules of physics when normal tactics aren't enough."
"And in exchange?"
"Resources. Support. People who understand that sometimes protecting the innocent requires doing things that don't look heroic from the outside."
Ben's Prescience finally activated, showing him fragments of conversation futures—accepting Oliver's offer, refusing it, negotiating terms that might satisfy both their needs. But the visions were still fragmented, uncertain, like the decision itself would reshape too many variables for his power to track clearly.
"I have questions," Ben said.
"Ask them."
"How many people have you killed?"
Oliver's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. "Enough to know that every death changes you. Not enough to stop when stopping means innocent people die instead."
"What's your endgame? When does the war end?"
"When the city is safe. When the corrupt are held accountable. When people don't have to live in fear that their government and businesses are owned by criminals."
"And what happens to Ben Hale when that war is over? Do I get to go back to teaching self-defense, or do I disappear because I know too much?"
Diggle stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd wrestled with similar questions. "Oliver doesn't eliminate allies. But he also doesn't let threats to the mission continue operating freely."
"Which am I?"
"That depends," Oliver said, "on what you choose to be."
The negotiation stretched over an hour, both men probing for weaknesses while trying to establish terms they could live with. Ben found himself walking a tightrope between revealing enough to be useful and maintaining the secrets that could expose his transmigration. Oliver pressed for details about Ben's training, his abilities, his motivations—all reasonable questions that Ben deflected with carefully crafted partial truths.
Finally, they reached something that might charitably be called an agreement.
"Consultant status," Ben said. "I help when you need someone with my particular skill set. I maintain my civilian life and my independence. And I don't kill unless there's absolutely no alternative."
"You'll take orders during operations."
"I'll accept tactical guidance from someone with more experience. But if I think you're wrong, I'll tell you. And if I think you're about to do something that violates my principles, I'll stop you."
Oliver considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. But understand that this work requires absolute trust. If I find out you're hiding something that could compromise the mission or endanger the team—"
"You'll do what you think you have to do," Ben finished. "I understand. But understand that I have my own lines I won't cross, and my own secrets I won't share. Not because I don't trust you, but because some knowledge is too dangerous to spread around."
POV: Oliver
After Ben left the foundry, Oliver sat in the chair that had become his command post, processing a conversation that had revealed as much about himself as about his potential new ally.
"What's your read?" Diggle asked, settling into the chair across from him.
"He's hiding something. Something big." Oliver pulled up Ben's file again, noting the gaps and inconsistencies that no amount of investigation had been able to fill. "But I don't think he's working for my enemies."
"Based on what?"
"Body language. Vocal patterns. The way he responded to pressure." Oliver had learned to read deception on an island where the wrong judgment about someone's intentions meant death. "He was afraid—anybody would be in this situation. But he wasn't guilty. And when he talked about protecting people, there was genuine conviction there."
"So you trust him?"
"I trust that he wants to protect innocent people. I trust that he's not working for the corrupt businessmen and crime bosses I'm hunting." Oliver closed Ben's file and looked at Diggle directly. "But there's something else. When he looked at me, it was like he already knew who I was. Not just the Hood—me. Like he'd seen this conversation before."
"Precognitive abilities?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he's just very good at reading people." Oliver rubbed his temples, fighting off the headache that came from too many variables and not enough answers. "Either way, he reminds me of myself. Secretive, traumatized, carrying knowledge that isolates him from everyone around him."
"That could make him a valuable ally."
"Or it could make him a time bomb waiting to go off." Oliver stood, moving to the weapons rack where he kept his backup bows. "We'll work with him. Carefully. But we keep backup plans in place, because men with his kind of power and his kind of secrets don't stay stable forever."
"And if he becomes a threat?"
Oliver selected an arrow from his quiver, testing its balance with the automatic motions of someone who'd learned that preparation was the only thing standing between civilization and chaos.
"Then we hope we're fast enough to stop him before he decides we're the enemy."
Ben walked home through the Glades with his mind churning over implications and possibilities. He'd just committed to becoming part of Team Arrow, which meant crossing the line from observer to active participant in ways that would make hiding increasingly difficult.
"I'm now officially allied with Oliver Queen. That gives me access to resources, intelligence, and support that I'll need when the Undertaking comes to light. But it also means operating under scrutiny from people trained to notice inconsistencies and uncover lies. How long can I maintain the fiction that I'm just a metahuman with good reflexes and a mysterious past?"
His phone buzzed with a text from Tommy: "Coffee tomorrow? I have questions about the whole 'fighting ninjas' thing."
Another from Felicity: "Saw the news. We DEFINITELY need to continue our cryptography discussions."
And one from Helena: "Impressive work at the gym. Perhaps we have more in common than I thought."
Each message represented another relationship he'd have to navigate, another person who would be watching him for signs of the secrets he couldn't share. But they also represented something he hadn't expected when he'd first awakened in this impossible world: genuine connections, people who cared about what happened to him independent of what he could do for them.
"I came here planning to save the city while staying invisible. Instead, I'm becoming part of its story, building relationships that matter more than any mission. The question is whether I can keep all these plates spinning when the real crisis begins, or whether trying to save everyone will just ensure I save no one."
Ben updated his coded journal with careful notes about his arrangement with Oliver, documenting terms and boundaries while avoiding any mention of the larger picture that his transmigration had shown him. From now on, he'd be operating as part of a team, which meant his individual choices would affect people he was beginning to care about.
The weight of that responsibility felt heavier than any secret he'd carried so far.
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