"Awake" was perhaps too generous a word.
Felicity hovered somewhere between sleep and consciousness, murmuring fragments of dreams — "Dad… Mom… don't go…"
Under Commissioner Gordon's anxious stare, Barbara stirred less than half a minute later, blinking weakly back to life. Relief washed over the old man like a tide.
Barbara's recovery was quicker once she woke — her constitution, after all, was far stronger than Felicity's. The only reason she'd regained consciousness later was because she'd inhaled far more of the gas… and because a certain someone had dragged her halfway across the city like luggage. Her head still throbbed.
Medical staff rushed in, injecting restorative fluids and mild anti-inflammatories. The pharmacology team had determined that, while most drugs might interact unpredictably with the toxin, basic antibiotics and metabolism boosters were safe — especially for Barbara's bruised forehead. That swelling looked ready to make her unrecognizable if left untreated.
Within minutes, Barbara's breathing evened out. Her vision cleared enough to make out the familiar outline of her father. Felicity, though, remained limp and pale, caught in a fog between waking and unconsciousness.
Still, consciousness — even partial — was progress. Thea exhaled in relief. These medics were clearly better at reviving people than her previous methods of cold water and slap therapy.
"Dad… where are we?" Barbara's voice was soft, disoriented, as her gaze darted around the unfamiliar room.
Gordon didn't know much more than she did — he'd been carted here while half-unconscious himself. But seeing his daughter's worried eyes, he managed a reassuring tone.
"This is… a secure facility. You're safe now."
"…Where's Robin?" she asked suddenly, scanning the room again. Her pulse quickened.
The commissioner froze, realization dawning. Robin. He wasn't here. Gordon turned toward Thea, silently asking the question.
Thea met his eyes, hesitated, and then shook her head.
"Robin's still back at the university," Gordon said quietly after a moment. "We'll go for him soon."
He wasn't angry — in truth, he'd never fully warmed to the boy. The kid was competent enough, but every father harbors that instinctive irritation toward a daughter's boyfriend. A little tough love wouldn't hurt him.
Barbara, however, had no such detachment. The words still back there hit her like a punch. She didn't even pause to ask who'd saved her — panic and guilt flooded in at once. Her lips trembled.
"Robin…"
Then, overwhelmed, she fainted again.
"Barbara! Barbara, wake up! Stay with me!"
Gordon clutched her shoulders like a man in a melodrama, shouting as if his daughter were dying instead of fainting.
Thea watched the scene with a twitch at the corner of her mouth. She's fine, old man. Overacting much?
Satisfied that both women were alive, she slipped out quietly, heading toward the lab. She needed to know if the toxin analysis was finished. If they'd identified the compound, maybe they could start formulating an antidote — and then she could finally return for Robin… and maybe find Catwoman, wherever she'd vanished to.
Meanwhile, in a sealed comms chamber deeper in the facility, Lyla stood at attention.
A screen flickered to life, revealing the unmistakable stern face of Amanda Waller.
"Lyla. You've recovered quickly," Waller observed.
"Thank you, ma'am."
No small talk. Both women preferred it that way.
Lyla raised a folder. "This is the bloodwork from myself, Thea Queen, and Commissioner Gordon. All three samples show toxin saturation well beyond safe human tolerance. Gordon and I inhaled similar amounts, but only I've been trained for such exposure. The surprising part is Thea — her exposure levels were much higher than ours."
Amanda's brows lifted slightly. "Are you suggesting she's enhanced?"
"On the contrary," Lyla replied. "Her physiology is completely normal. Every parameter — blood cells, proteins, tissue integrity — all within human range. The only explanation is her sheer mental endurance. She withstood the poisoning, fought through it, and managed to extract three hostages. If it had been me, I'd have been down in minutes."
Waller nodded slowly. Agents weren't prone to exaggeration; they knew exactly where their limits lay. Lyla's words carried weight.
"People like that exist," Amanda mused. "Strong will, impossible resilience. They're rare, but not unheard of. Batman, for instance — he's taken enough hallucinogens and nerve toxins to kill a horse, and he still crawls out of the wreckage every time."
As she spoke, she found herself comparing the two.
Bruce Wayne and Thea Queen — different cities, same pattern.
Both brilliant, both born into wealth. Both orphaned into chaos.
Two sides of the same coin — one forged in the shadows of Gotham, the other beneath the brighter lights of Star City.
Maybe being rich really does breed superheroes, she thought darkly. Money, trauma, and a superiority complex — the holy trinity.
Out loud, she asked, "Your assessment, Michaels. Does she fit our parameters?"
"Yes," Lyla said firmly. "More than Batman does, honestly. She's level-headed, cooperative — she could make an excellent A.R.G.U.S. partner."
"I see."
Amanda ended the call without another word.
She leaned back in her chair, flipping through another folder already on her desk.
Moira Queen.
The candidate had officially filed for Star City's mayoral race — early polling showed her comfortably leading.
Normally, Amanda would've dismissed campaign fluff about "revitalizing employment" and "new economic growth" as empty slogans. But now that Thea Queen was involved, the picture had changed.
If Moira won, she'd enter the federal spotlight — and A.R.G.U.S., as a secret government arm, would gain a natural ally.
Mother in politics. Daughter in the field.
A perfect bridge between legitimacy and power.
Compared to Gotham's unstable vigilante, the pragmatic, politically connected Queens looked far more reliable.
Amanda's lips curved in a faint smile.
Yes, she thought. The government doesn't need another Batman. It needs a Queen.