Chapter Text
Felicity Smoak, boring IT worker by day, hacktavist by night, was brushing her teeth in preparation for bed when the Triad came for her.
She had just swallowed down her evening suppressants and was in the process of rinsing her mouth from giving her teeth a good scrubbing (she had garlic chicken alfredo for dinner; delicious, but garlicky morning breath is the worst) when the front door of the dingy little apartment she shared with Cooper and Byron smashed in with a violent crash.
The soft *pff* *pff* *pff* of silenced gunshots went off, followed by a choked wet gasp from Byron’s location on the crappy futon blocking full view of the bathroom’s half closed door. She could see crimson beginning to stain the back of the futon where he had been lounging playing video games through the crack by the door’s hinges. His little video game figure walked off a cliff as her breath died in her lungs.
The primal instinct of Fight, Flight, or Freeze flooded her system, and chose freeze for about the count of five. The tinking theme music of the video game character’s death in the background just added too many levels of surreal to the situation for her brain to completely grasp the severity of present events. Abruptly, the realization that yes, this really was happening, and yes, there really were four Asian men with guns raiding her home and yelling at each other in Chinese kicked in, and Flight took over from Freeze.
Her genius brain went through a checklist of options faster than the blink of an eye. Cell phone? In the living room with the men. Actual clothes? No time. Running away barefoot in a cami-tank and tiny sleep shorts was more important than fully clothing herself right now. Escape options? Bedroom window was closest, open to the night air and rusty fire escape, and (bonus) her tablet was resting on the night stand she’d have to jump over to get the hell out.
Brain processing these thoughts so quickly that the angry men had barely gotten five feet into the grungy living room, Felicity kept low and fucking ran for it.
It took a full level down the rickety fire escape before the panic fully controlled her and her perception went strange. She didn’t remember getting down the next five floors, but she must have since she could now feel the cold filth of concrete beneath her feet as she dropped to the alley behind her hole of an apartment in the Glades.
Faint yelling in Chinese followed by a *pfft* registered a moment before a bullet pinged off the pavement near her feet and a burning pain seared across the side of her calf. With a yelp, the pain kicked her panic into high gear once again and she took off down the alley, panting in a combination of fear and exertion.
Too late she noticed the heeled boot snap out of the shadows of the alley and hook her ankle.
Hands flying out to try to break her fall, Felicity could only whimper as her tablet escaped the desperate clutch of her hand and soared through the air, smashing into a thousand pieces as it hit the opposite alley wall. Everything seemed to slow down once she saw her baby shatter, and little insignificant details popped out at her as her mind tried to process what was going on.
The white-haired woman who tripped her had nice boots. They looked shiny and black and expensive. Prada? Did she always wear expensive shoes when killing someone? It would suck to get blood stains on those. Though white-haired lady deserved it for tripping her at full speed. She was going to kiss the pavement shortly because of it. It was going to hurt. There was probably going to be blood. She hoped she got it on white-hair’s shoes.
Time sped up again as Felicity was proven right; it really did hurt.
Cheekbones were not meant to connect with pavement with force, and a blinding white sheet of pain blanketed her vision as she felt her body tumble ass over tea kettle several times before being stopped up short by the cold metal of a dumpster.
By the time she recognized that the whimpers of pain she heard were her own, she could also hear both male and female voices conversing above her. Opening her eyes, or eye rather, as the other seemed to be almost swollen shut, her entire field of vision was blurry. Dammit. Her glasses were gone. Or she had a concussion. Or both. Either would suck. Both would really suck.
Forcing her body to shift, to move at all, took an immense force of will, but she managed to bring her hand up to her face to feel for her glasses as she lay shivering on the ground. Gingerly running the pads of her fingers over her face, she winced. Swelling? Check. Blood? Check. Pain upon touching? Double check. Glasses? No check. Frack.
Struggling to pull her other arm underneath her in a feeble attempt to push up her body, to stand or sit or roll over (she didn’t know), the petite woman realized that hand was still clenched in a fist.
Around her toothbrush of all things.
Masculine voices and heavy footsteps grew louder and she was roughly grabbed by the shoulders and pulled upright. Shrieking, the petite hacker stabbed the toothbrush at her captor in flailing terror, grunting in surprise as the toothbrush was ripped out of her grip with a deep growling scream and she was again thrown through the air, landing in a heap.
The little blonde Omega didn’t even try to get up this time, let alone move. She wanted to- Smoak women were strong, but she was pretty sure her body was giving her the middle finger right now.
Humorless feminine laughter echoed in her ears as the exhaustion, fear, pain, shock, and mild blood loss all caught up with her at once. White hair around a coldly beautiful Asian woman’s face coming into focus as her body was rolled over with the toe of those fancy black boots was the last thing she saw before she passed out.
Felicity hoped she got blood all over them. Bitch.
Then there was nothing but blissful darkness.