The past refused to remain buried. On Michael's sleek, modern desk in his Metropolis penthouse, a small, crudely carved wooden mask appeared – a relic of Lian Yu's brutal landscape, a symbol that sent a chill down his spine despite the warm city air. Slade Wilson. The hunter had found his way to their world.
A cold dread, a primal fear he hadn't felt in years, gripped Michael. Slade's obsession with Oliver had been a relentless, consuming fire. The mask was a declaration, a promise of pain and destruction. Everything Michael had built, the fragile peace he had brokered, was now under threat.
His call to Oliver was immediate, his voice tight with urgency. "Oliver, he's here. Slade… I found his mark."
Oliver's initial disbelief quickly morphed into grim recognition. "Slade? How… I thought he was…"
Michael cut him off. "Lian Yu doesn't let go easily, Oliver. He's coming. And he won't stop until he's destroyed everything you care about." The carefully constructed walls of their new lives began to tremble.