In the end, Thea's "red" design won the argument. After all, she was the one risking her life on the thing—Felicity's dream of painting it green died a quiet death.
But just as Thea thought she was finally ready for live testing, an entirely new problem appeared before them.
"Felicity, pull harder—this suit is way too tight!"
"Thea, exhale! Let the air out of your chest—follow my count. Inhale. Exhale!"
Thea Queen had made a rookie mistake: she believed in the "borrow-and-adapt" philosophy a little too much, without verifying the details.
The G-suit she'd borrowed from the company's R&D storage had originally been designed for male fighter pilots. The purpose of the suit was to use pneumatic bladders to apply pressure to the body during high G maneuvers, preventing blood from pooling in the lower limbs and protecting circulation.
In theory, it could easily handle the kind of acceleration her hoverboard could reach—barely 400 km/h.
But theory had its limits.
Every piece they had on hand—this one included—had been designed for men. It wasn't a loose flight suit either; it was a tight-body model. And that's where the trouble began: Thea simply couldn't fit into it.
Maybe she'd hit another growth spurt. Maybe it was the extra calories from her martial arts training. Or maybe that "healing ointment" Lady Shiva gave her had a few… stimulating ingredients. Whatever the reason, her B-cup was rapidly and uncomfortably marching toward a C.
It took both women a solid ten minutes of struggle to wrestle the suit on. When they were finally done, Thea discovered that the zipper at the back barely closed, while the front—thanks to certain anatomical realities—didn't reach far enough. Her smooth, toned stomach was completely exposed.
Great for a runway.
Terrible for riding a 400 km/h hoverboard.
"Felicity, it's too tight—I can't even breathe!"
Thea stood stiff as a statue, afraid to sit. She finally understood what people meant by "shortness of breath."
Felicity grinned mischievously, holding up a pair of scissors and pointing at Thea's chest.
"Want me to cut a couple of holes? You know, for ventilation?"
Thea froze. What kind of perverted suggestion was that?!
When had her sweet, innocent Felicity turned into this teasing menace?
Rejecting the idea firmly, she watched Felicity laugh herself nearly breathless, clearly entertained by Thea's suffering.
Finally, Thea peeled off the cursed G-suit and sat down at her desk, wearing only her underwear, gasping for air. It wasn't like Felicity hadn't seen it all before—but Thea still felt exposed.
The suit had no ventilation at all; she was practically melting inside it.
Picking up her phone, Thea called the weapons R&D department and spun a quick lie—that she had a friend who was a female pilot. She asked them to custom-design a new G-suit for her, with improved breathability and proper fit.
The engineers, who had been bored out of their minds, immediately sprang into action when they heard the Queen heiress's voice. They promised a prototype within three days.
As Thea hung up, she sighed, wondering how she was going to justify the expense on company records. Felicity, still giggling with smeared makeup, followed her out of their secret lab.
"Hey, Thea—"
Turning around, Thea saw Laurel Lance, dressed in a sharp professional suit, waving her over.
Laurel? What's she doing here?
They weren't exactly close. In fact, their lives barely overlapped. What could she possibly want?
"Hey, long time no see. What brings you here?"
Instead of answering, Laurel glanced around the hallway first.
"You two talk," Felicity said with a knowing smile. "I'll go check on the newbies in Software." She waved gracefully and disappeared down the corridor.
Once they were alone, Laurel handed her a thick file.
"Thea, you need to see this. It's a new case we just got at the Unified Innovation Group."
That "Group" sounded impressive—like a tech think tank or some secret society. In reality, it was just a small law firm formed by a few freshly certified lawyers. No clients, no reputation, no connections—and it would've folded already if Tommy hadn't been quietly donating money to keep it alive.
Thea flipped through the papers halfheartedly, still preoccupied with her hoverboard suit issue. Normally, she wouldn't have cared. She wasn't out to right wrongs or play hero; at best, she was a neutral bystander in the so-called "justice camp."
But this was Laurel—Oliver's girlfriend, Tommy's love interest… basically family. Thea had to at least pretend to listen.
The case was filed by a man named Derrick Leston—gray-haired, middle-aged, no scars, no tattoos, nothing remarkable. He had a wife, two kids, and lived in a small rental apartment.
So far, so normal. She flipped to the next page—
"Huh…?"
She froze, reading carefully for ten full minutes before letting out a long sigh.
Now I see why Laurel came to me.
The complainant, Derrick Leston, wasn't just anyone—he was a former employee of Queen Consolidated.
And not just that: he had worked for fifteen years at the Queen Steel Factory—the very site that now served as Thea's current headquarters. He'd been a foreman there until 2007, when the company shut down the plant, laying off 1,500 workers.
At the time, it hadn't seemed unusual—layoffs happened every day. But the real issue was that Queen Consolidated had used a loophole in the labor contract to avoid paying any severance or pension.
Thea clenched her jaw. That's… disgusting.
It was classic corporate cruelty—the worst of capitalism. Did the company really need that money so badly? No wonder Oliver had always said that Queen Consolidated itself was part of the rot that plagued Star City.
She rubbed her temples and checked the signature date—it had been signed right before Robert Queen's final voyage.
Perfect. Another mess to inherit.
She gave Laurel a grateful nod. She understood the unspoken message: Laurel wasn't here to accuse her. She was giving her a chance to fix it quietly before it exploded.
Laurel was one of those classic idealistic heroines—unyielding, impossibly earnest, and with a moral compass so sharp it could cut steel. They always meant well, even if it usually got them into trouble.
If this case went public, it could destroy the Queen family's reputation—and derail Moira's budding political career overnight.
Sure, Moira could probably make the problem disappear… but Thea still had a conscience. And some lines, even in this city, she refused to cross.