“From what I’ve been able to piece together, he keeps an eye on Miss Lance,” Blood replied. “When the vigilante comes to save Laurel, I need you to reveal yourself as the man behind the skull mask.”
Officer Daily paused, took another sip of his coffee, then nodded.
“Anything you need, brother,” he said, “I will do.”
“This mission has to succeed,” Blood continued. “When you reveal your identity to the vigilante and Lance, it will lead them away from me, and thus the brotherhood. After you are revealed, however, it will be in your best interest to leave the city as quickly as possible. Once Laurel Lance sees your face, she will stop at nothing to bring you down.”
“We’ve been through a lot together through the years, Brother Blood,” Officer Daily said. “My best memories of Zandia have you in them, and sharing in this journey with you for the city has been an honor. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” He smiled, taking another bite of his pastry.
“Thank you, my friend.”
* * *
Glass shattered as Oliver was hit over the head, and fell heavily to the floor. Out of the shadows of Lance’s apartment, Brother Daily appeared in the skull mask.
“Leave him, he isn’t important,” he said, looking contemptuously at Oliver as two men grabbed Laurel by the arms. “Hello, Laurel,” he said, his voice muffled. “I hear you have been talking about me.” He reached into his bag and grabbed a bottle of chloroform. The rank smell filled the room as he dampened a towel with the sedative. Laurel did her best to try and escape, but Daily managed to shove the towel in Laurel’s face.
Her eyes rolled back into her head, she stopped struggling, and passed out.
“Put her in the back of the van,” Daily said. “I need to leave a message.” The two men dragged her through the door, leaving him alone with Oliver. He went into his bag again and pulled out some red paint, which he quickly used to smear instructions on Laurel’s white brick wall.
Tell the Arrow
Starling Cannery
The red paint dripped down the white wall as Brother Daily smiled behind his mask, finally understanding the power and strength that the mask possessed. He darted out of the apartment to continue his mission for Brother Blood.
* * *
When Laurel regained consciousness, she peeled herself off the concrete floor where she had been deposited and walked slowly around, examining the pipes and debris, looking for the man whom she believed to be Sebastian Blood. Her breath grew short as suddenly a figure emerged out of the shadows in the dark, wearing the mask. He stayed in sight just long enough for her to spot him.
“If that mask is supposed to scare me, all it is doing is confirming what I’ve already known for a while now…” she cried out as he disappeared again. “You’re one sick son of a bitch, Sebastian.”
“Thirty thousand years ago, masks invested their wearer with authority,” a voice said from the darkness. “Like a God.”
“You’re insane!” Laurel screamed.
“I’m not the one making drug-addled, unsubstantiated accusations against Starling’s favorite son,” the figure said as he leapt out again, putting her in a headlock.
Suddenly a green arrow blazed past, grazing his arm.
“Get away from her,” a guttural voice said, “or I will put you down.”
He tossed Laurel to the hard, wet concrete as he reached for something in his pocket. She struggled to get up as the man aimed a gun at the Arrow, but he didn’t get a chance to shoot as the Arrow knocked the gun out of his hands. The Arrow pressed his advantage, punching and kicking him, then the masked figure leapt onto the Arrow’s back, sending him down onto the concrete.
The vigilante struggled to break free, finally pulling an arrow from his quiver, and stabbed it deep into his assailant’s leg. The man screamed as blood began to pour from his wound. The Arrow elbowed him in the face, knocking him off.
There was a moment’s hesitation, and the masked man seized the opportunity, grabbed his gun, and aimed directly for the Arrow…
BANG!
A bullet entered the masked man’s back, then another, and another, and another as Laurel charged him with a revolver. He went down, twisting in uncontrollable spasms, grunts of pain coming from behind the mask, blood appearing from his wounds. The Arrow recovered his equilibrium, bent down, and removed the mask.
Laurel gasped. It was Officer Daily, from her father’s unit. He looked up at her, and smiled. Tears started to well up in her eyes. Then he started to gasp for air, and stopped breathing altogether.
* * *
Sebastian arrived at Slade’s headquarters late at night, flanked by a pair of newly minted bodyguards. He was proud that he had succeeded in his aim of throwing Laurel Lance off the chase. He felt relieved that Slade wouldn’t harm her. And he tried to bury the guilt he felt for sending Brother Daily on a mission that had cost his life.
Another life taken for the cause. He greatly admired Brother Daily for his devotion, and swore that his death wouldn’t be in vain.
“It’s done,” Sebastian said to the figure in the shadows. After his run-in with Slade, he had decided that having round-the-clock bodyguards would help avoid situations like that. “The police think it was Daily,” he announced. “He sacrificed himself for our cause.”
“It’s a good start,” Slade growled, “but the magnitude of your negligence requires a greater sacrifice.” He emerged from the shadows wearing black-and-orange armor. Before they could even twitch, he stabbed Sebastian’s bodyguards and slit their throats as if carving a Thanksgiving turkey.
Sebastian froze, unable to move.
“Your incompetence has now cost four lives, Alderman,” Slade said, holding his sword to his throat. “Fail me again, and yours will be the fifth.” He put his sword back in his sheath and faded back into the darkness.
13
A few weeks later, Isabel Rochev’s black Mercedes Benz roared to a stop at Slade’s headquarters. She emerged, slamming the car door, her anger palpable. The walk to Slade’s office did nothing to diminish it.
“It’s been weeks, and nothing is happening,” she raged.
“These things take time, Miss Rochev,” Slade responded calmly. “We are still on target.”
“You say that, yet the Queens are still out there, scot free,” she countered. “I agreed to work with you, train with you, because you convinced me I would have my revenge, yet months have passed, and nothing.” She slammed a fist on his desk, and he just peered at her in silence. As she began to speak again, he held up a hand, silencing her.
“You are a lucky woman, Miss Rochev—you will get your wish, tonight in fact,” he said, and she frowned with confusion. “And you need wait no longer. Tonight will be the commencement of our plan,” he continued as he rose to his feet. Slade walked to a cabinet, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a silver briefcase. He placed it on his desk, twirled the numbers on the lock, and was rewarded with a satisfying click.
“Tonight we both will visit the Queen Mansion,” Slade said as he held up a tiny spy camera, an acquisition from his time at A.S.I.S. Isabel approached the desk and saw several such cameras in the briefcase. “With these I will show my support for Moira Queen’s mayoral campaign. I’m going to bug their palace so we can observe their every move. The cameras are so sophisticated that not even Oliver’s dear Felicity can hack into them,” he said as he placed the camera back in the briefcase. “I have waited five years for this night, and I cannot wait a moment longer for the gratification of seeing Oliver Queen suffer,” Slade said.
“But what will I be doing while you’re breaking and entering?” Isabel asked.
Without answering, Slade made his way to a nearby closet. He reappeared with a sealed garment bag.
“You have been most loyal, Miss Rochev,” he began, “devoted to the cause, and you have successfully completed your training.” He hung up the garment bag. “The word ‘ravage’ means to wreak havoc or destruction,�
�� Slade said as he unzipped the garment bag to reveal a suit of armor. A rare smile appeared on her face as she moved closer to admire her new attire.
“Tonight, you begin your career as the Ravager,” Slade said. “I need you to stand guard at the Queen Mansion. Oliver will choose to keep his vigilante identity a secret from his family tonight, which means he will send John Diggle to stop me. I need you to fight off Diggle. There is no need to kill him, though—killing him will come later, but I have faith that you will be able to disarm him.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.
Isabel touched the jumpsuit, which was made of high-quality leather. She ran her fingers over it, admiring the handiwork. Then she picked up her mask, an orange-and-black affair that echoed Slade’s own, though it still showed her expression. She placed it over her head and grinned, eager for the night’s events.
“Thank you, Mr. Wilson,” she said from behind the mask.
Slade gave her a half smile. “Thank me when Queen Consolidated is yours.”
* * *
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Queen,” Slade said, grasping Oliver’s hand as he stepped into the Queen Mansion living room. Oliver’s face went white.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Mr. Wilson just made a sizable contribution to my campaign,” Moira told him, glaring at her son for forgetting his manners.
Without letting the façade slip in the slightest, Slade explained to Oliver that he had been impressed with his mother’s campaign efforts, and believed that she was the type of mayor the city needed, praising her budget proposals, plans for lowering unemployment rates, and closing wage gaps. He went on to sympathize with what she had experienced over the previous year.
“All I can say is that you and I have something in common,” he concluded. “I know how difficult it is to pick yourself back up after others have written you off.” He picked up a glass of rum, then handed one each to Oliver and his mother, offering a toast to their new relationship. Oliver hesitated, then took a small sip as Slade let his gaze fall on an antique model boat in the Queen living room. While Moira and Oliver sipped their drinks, he took the opportunity to place one of his spy cameras on the boat.
“Does your family get out on the water much?” Slade asked. Moira explained to Slade that after Robert’s death, no one in the family went out on the water.
“Now that you mention it, I remember reading about that in the papers—I’m sorry,” Slade said turning to Oliver. “You were a brave soul—being on that island must have been hell,” he added. In his head, however, all he could see was Shado’s face.
“Are you married, Mr. Wilson?” Moira asked. “Do you have any children?”
“I’m afraid not,” he responded. For a moment, Slade felt his heart ache for how his life used to be—before the island, before meeting Oliver. “There was someone special once, but she died a few years ago,” he continued, picturing Shado in the grass with a bullet in her brain—all because of Oliver. He took another sip of his rum and got up from the couch, stepping over to closely admire a painting hung above the mantel.
“My first husband had a love for nineteenth-century American landscapes,” Moira said. The conversation continued as Slade said he would love to see their full collection, which was hung around the house. Oliver quickly dismissed the idea.
“We have some family business to attend to,” he said curtly as Moira rolled her eyes. She left the room to locate a member of her staff who could show him around to see the paintings. As soon as she did Oliver snatched a letter opener from the desk and advanced, but Slade saw him coming and grasped Oliver’s wrist tightly. Using his mirakuru strength, he forced Oliver to drop the makeshift weapon.
“Not yet, kid,” Slade said, “I still have to meet the rest of your family.” He released his grip as Oliver’s sister came through the front door.
“Thea! What perfect timing!” Moira said, reentering the room. “This is Slade Wilson. I was just about to show him our art collection, but you are far better suited.” The girl looked pleased, and agreed to act as an impromptu tour guide.
* * *
Thea showed great pride as she led Slade around the mansion. He expressed amazement with how many pieces the Queen family possessed, studying several of them carefully, and told her he was impressed with how insightful she was about the art. The tour came to an end, and Slade thanked both mother and daughter for their hospitality. Then he started to make his way toward the foyer.
“Thea, are you home?” The shout came as the group approached the front door.
“Roy?” Thea said loudly. “I thought I was meeting you at Verdant.”
Moira introduced Roy Harper to Slade. The two men shook hands, and Slade smiled, knowing that Roy had been one of the successful test subjects. Judging from the firm grip he received, Slade guessed that Team Arrow anticipated trouble, and that his enemies had made ready to attack.
His plan was going accordingly.
“Ollie!” Sara Lance called out, coming down the stairs, and he strove to maintain his composure at seeing her again so unexpectedly, the girl that Oliver had chosen over his beloved Shado. The two exchanged pleasantries as their time in Lian Yu burned behind their eyes.
“What would you like to do now, Mr. Wilson?” Oliver asked, and he no longer seemed off balance. Slade scanned the room, knowing they were chomping at the bit to make a move on him.
Fools, he thought to himself as he thanked Moira for having him in her home. Oliver offered to walk him out to his car.
* * *
John Diggle shifted slightly on his perch, arranging his sniper rifle, ready to take Slade out as soon as he left Queen Mansion. He spoke into his comm, then he waited.
As soon as he saw Oliver walk out with Slade, he peered through the sight, lining up the shot. Suddenly he was struck in the head, and instantly unconscious. He never heard his assailant approach.
Ravager beamed, pleased with herself, a rush of adrenaline running through her at combat that wasn’t just training. She was surprised how good it felt, and was ready to do it again.
* * *
“Cyrus Gold,” Oliver hissed angrily. “The man in the skull mask, his associates—they all work for you!” As calm as could be, Slade got into his car. “What do you want?” Oliver demanded.
“Five years ago I made you a promise, and I am here to fulfill it. Sara was only the first,” Slade said. “See you around, kid.” With that he slammed the car door, shutting down the conversation, and moments later he was racing off into the night as the moon glistened in his eye, and his heart filled with hate.
* * *
A few days later, shortly before dawn, Sebastian visited Slade’s office. He was wary as he entered the room.
“I have news, Slade, and it’s not good,” he called out.
“What is it now, Mr. Blood?” Slade asked, turning in his chair. “Something more about your inability to follow simple instructions?”
“I’m afraid it’s yours, sir,” Sebastian replied, bracing himself.
“Go on,” Slade said, a hint of humor in his tone.
“My eyes in the Glades have told me that the Russian mob has been looking into your business,” Sebastian reported.
“What do you mean?” Slade asked.
“Someone is looking to label you as the vigilante,” Sebastian said. “From what I’ve been told, they were asking about a man with an eye patch—someone who not long ago arrived in Starling. It could be nothing, but we’re at a crucial moment, and we can’t take chances now.”
“I am impressed, Mr. Blood,” Slade said. “Who do you know who might be involved with this?”
“Alexi Leonov is the head of a business that they run in the Glades,” Sebastian answered. “I believe he would know more.”
“Then I will have to visit Mr. Leonov tonight,” Slade said.
* * *
Dressed in his Deathstroke armor, Slade approached the car shop in which Alexi Leonov worked. As soon
as he arrived, he killed the first two men he saw in mechanic’s jumpsuits. Then he powered on through the shop, found Alexi behind a desk, and whisked out his sword from its sheath.
“Who are you?” Alexi asked, his eyes going wide.
“Someone you and Oliver Queen are too curious about,” Slade said.
Alexi tried to get up to defend himself, twisting to reach for a drawer. Slade stabbed him in the back, sending him sprawling to the ground in pain, blood spurting from his body. Then he reached back and pulled an orange arrow from his pack. He stared down at Alexi.
“What have your men found?” Slade demanded.
“I will tell you nothing,” Alexi sneered dismissively. The threat of stabbing him in the leg did nothing to loosen his tongue, so Slade drove the arrow down, feeling the arrowhead puncturing the bone. It crunched again as he pulled the arrow back out. Alexi howled with pain, and when Slade motioned to repeat the process, the Russian motioned for him to wait.
“I gave him bank account number,” he confessed, “that is all. Enough is enough.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Slade said as he stabbed his orange arrow through Alexi’s eye, killing him instantly.
“Nice try, kid,” Slade said.
* * *
Having thrown Alexi’s body into the back of the car, Slade arrived back at his penthouse office knowing that it wouldn’t take Oliver long to figure out where he was. Smoak would do that.
His mind seethed with anger as he dragged Alexi’s body savagely out of the elevator and into his office, the shaft of the arrow protruding from the eye socket and scraping against the floor. He lifted the body with one swoop of his arm and slammed it into a desk chair, then peered at it in disgust as blood dripped from the wound, already slower than it had been. Slade’s mind raced with memories of his past—his time on the island with Oliver and Shado, waking up in the ocean feeling lost and alone—but the familiar feeling of retribution soon returned.
He went to his filing cabinet, rummaged through a drawer, and returned with a film canister and projector reel. He carefully opened the canister and pulled out a roll of film, then placed it gently on the projector. He started the machine, shining the footage against the wall. He was mesmerized as he watched the footage of Shado—recordings he had stolen from A.S.I.S. She smiled at the camera playfully, her beauty and essence shining through. Her face was as beautiful as ever, her black hair blowing freely in the wind.
Arrow--Vengeance Page 23