Oliver, Black Canary, and Natasha hid in a storage room at the very end of the Staff Passage. Through a tiny porthole, they watched another shadow fall straight into the icy seawater, blood staining the surface red.
As far as the eye could see, the surrounding sea had been dyed crimson. Hundreds of corpses floated atop the blood-red waters, made even paler by the moonlight, like chunks of ice left behind by a melting glacier.
After they died, the connections between them grew even tighter. Almost everyone had stretched out their arms and opened their embraces, baring their chests as they never had in life, embracing the sky—or as if they had joined hands to weave a vast, tranquil web.
The three people in the room all knew they could not get out.
As time passed, Schiller grew stronger and stronger. The anchor points they had previously deduced had become completely useless. He no longer followed any rules, merely appearing behind anyone without discrimination, turning them into corpses and throwing them into the sea.
Oliver did not know how many people remained outside. He only knew that if they went out now, they too would most likely become floating ice.
"Do you still want to die?" Natasha looked at Oliver and asked.
Oliver turned his eyes toward her. The female agent's lips curved slightly, and the faint light spilling in through the porthole rendered her sharply defined features even more solemn.
"You never told anyone, but you must have thought about it. All it would take was one bullet, and the shattered, irreparable situation, the crushing responsibility, the irreversible circumstances—none of it would have anything to do with you anymore."
Black Canary widened her eyes at the silent Oliver. Shocked and heartbroken, she said, "You want to kill yourself? You