Arrow--Vengeance

by Oscar Balderrama

  He was directly responsible for the destruction of the city he had fought so hard to save. In a few short hours, he would be the mayor of a ruin. A failure to the Glades, to his brotherhood, and to Father Trigon. He wasn’t a man given to prayer, but in that moment, he found himself remembering the cross his mother wore. In order to save the city, he would need the type of miracle she believed in.

  Then he scoffed at the thought—that in his darkest hour, he would try to find salvation in a memory. His city was truly doomed.

  Abruptly the soldier Slade had dispatched to receive the mirakuru cure returned. He held a metal briefcase, the logo for S.T.A.R. Labs embossed on its side. He placed it on Slade’s desk.

  “Mr. Wilson, is this what you’re looking for?” he asked.

  Slade opened the case, revealing vials filled with an incandescent blue liquid. The cure.

  “Yes it is,” he said.

  Sebastian peered over his shoulder.

  A miracle to combat a miracle.

  He looked out upon the city he loved, fires still burning, and knew he would need what was in that case. Behind him Slade dismissed the soldier, then closed the briefcase, putting it on the credenza behind him. He noticed Sebastian staring out at the night.

  “You’ve been very quiet, Mr. Blood,” he said. “Something on your mind?”

  Sebastian thought quickly.

  “Regret,” he said. “That I ever trusted Oliver Queen.”

  Slade nodded. “So you finally see.”

  “I acted rashly before,” Sebastian agreed. “But watching the city burn, I understand this is all his fault—and he has to pay.”

  “Soon,” Slade murmured. “The last phase of my plan is in place.”

  “When does this end?”

  “When I’ve taken the person Oliver Queen holds most dear.”

  * * *

  Sebastian waited until Slade headed off to prepare himself for the final battle. Then, left to his own devices, he removed the S.T.A.R. Labs briefcase and headed down the hall toward the elevator. He pulled out his cell phone, dialing as he walked. It rang once, twice.

  “Pick up, dammit, come on.” Then, finally, Oliver Queen answered.

  “What do you want?”

  “Same thing you do, Oliver. To save this city before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late.”

  “You were right about Slade Wilson. I should have listened to you.” Sebastian waited for the elevator. “But I’m here now and I can help you.”

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Because, Oliver,” Sebastian replied, “I have the mirakuru cure.” He entered the elevator. “Meet me at City Hall.”

  * * *

  Entering City Hall, he had to step past the corpses of his office staff—all people who had trusted him. Reaching his office, he found Spencer’s body, her neck at an impossible angle, her eyes staring. Gently he picked her up, took her through the door, and placed her on a desk.

  Back in the office he paced, holding his skull mask, studying it. Then he stared through the slatted blinds of his window, gazing out on his broken city. Fires still burned, casting flickering light on columns of billowing smoke. Behind him Oliver and Diggle entered, and in the reflection he could see their weapons at the ready.

  Expecting a double-cross, no doubt, he mused. Then he spoke. “As a young boy, I was plagued by nightmares. Every night, I would wake up in a cold sweat, frightened and alone. It was my father’s face that haunted me, and this is how I saw him.” He showed them the mask, holding it in the air. “The embodiment of desperation and despair. I made this mask to conquer my fears, and remind myself why I fight—every day—to give this city’s most desperate a chance. All I ever wanted to do was help people, Oliver.”

  “Then help me believe,” Oliver responded. “Where’s the cure?”

  “Slade Wilson will not rest until he honors the promise that he made you.”

  “I won’t be so easy to kill, once we level the playing field.”

  “He’s not interested in killing you,” Sebastian said. “Not until he’s taken away everything and everyone you love.”

  “After he murdered my mother, he said one more person had to die.”

  “Whoever you love the most.”

  Sebastian headed over to his desk, bending and reaching behind it, into the space underneath. He pulled out the briefcase, and when he straightened up, he wasn’t surprised to see Diggle’s gun trained on him.

  “I hope you can beat him with this,” he said, handing the case to Oliver. “For all our sakes. And when this is over, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to rebuild Starling City. I won’t just make it what it was. I will make it better. Like I always planned.”

  Oliver looked at him as if he was insane. “You really think after everything that’s happened, after what you’ve done, that they’ll still let you be mayor?”

  “Why not?” he said. “No one knows that I’ve done anything except try to save this city. And if you tell anyone about my mask, I will tell them about yours.”

  Oliver just stared, and set his jaw.

  “Do what you have to, Sebastian.”

  He turned and they left, Diggle leading the way. Sebastian watched them go, the city’s last hope held in a gray metal briefcase.

  * * *

  Later, he poured himself two-fingers’ worth of thirty-year-old Scotch, retrieved from the decanter at his bar. A gift from his support staff—the ones whose bodies lay up and down the hall. Self-deception aside, he knew that his time as mayor was over. Not because of Oliver, but because of Slade. Sebastian wasn’t an idiot. There was no way he’d be allowed to live.

  As he took a sip of Scotch, Isabel arrived, sword drawn.

  “You gave it to him, didn’t you?”

  “I did what I thought was necessary.” He took another sip.

  Isabel moved to his desk phone.

  “Don’t worry,” Sebastian said. “I’ll tell Slade.”

  She ignored him and hit speed dial. Slade picked up on the first ring, his voice coming over the speaker.

  “Does he still have the cure?”

  “No,” Isabel said.

  “Slade,” Blood said, loudly enough to be heard. “You betrayed—”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Blood.”

  The line went dead. Sebastian turned to face Isabel and was met with her two swords, driven through his chest. He stared her down, the blades buried up to the hilt.

  “I loved this city.”

  Isabel ripped her blades free from his chest. He stood wobbling in place, looking down in shock at the rapidly spreading blood, almost black in the gloom. Then she pushed him, sending him toppling to the desk, splayed out on his back, the last bit of life within him leaving.

  The last thing he heard was his skull mask dropping to the floor with a thud.

  23

  Slade turned his attention back to the television. Aircraft were approaching the city, and the news reporter identified them as incoming military support—but Slade knew there was no military base close enough for that to be the case. Judging from their flanking formation, those troops hadn’t arrived to save Starling City from his army. They were there to corral his men.

  Keeping them within the city’s borders.

  His telecommunications tracker buzzed again, notifying him of another outgoing call. This time, it was Oliver on the line, calling a restricted number Slade could not trace. The woman’s voice on the other end was harsh and abrasive, the telltale indicators of a commander. It reminded him of Wade DeForge.

  “How did you get this number?” the voice demanded.

  “Amanda, what are you doing?”

  “Not sure what you mean, Oliver.”

  “The troops taking up position at the city’s exits, they’re not Army. They’re A.R.G.U.S. Those are your men. So you tell me what you’re up to.”

  So they are A.R.G.U.S., thought Slade. Still the woman didn’t answer the question.

&n
bsp; “Amanda!” Oliver shouted.

  “Slade’s followers are a clear and present danger,” the woman, Amanda, replied hesitantly. “I cannot allow them to escape the city. They need to be contained—by any means necessary.”

  Slade knew exactly what that implied.

  “You can’t,” Oliver said.

  “There’s a drone en route carrying six GBU-43/B bombs. Enough firepower to level the city.”

  Despite his protestations, the woman told Oliver that he had until dawn. If he couldn’t neutralize Slade’s soldiers by then, she would turn Starling City into a crater.

  Perfect, thought Slade. Even if the cure proved successful, there was no way Oliver could neutralize his entire army by dawn. He simply lacked the numbers. Whether he stopped Slade or not, Oliver’s precious city would still become a hole in the ground—rendered that way by the very same organization Slade had helped A.S.I.S. track.

  Funny how the world works sometimes.

  Slade used the computer to identify Oliver’s location, tracing the call back to a clock tower in the Glades. He radioed his men, instructing them to raid both that location and the sublevel lair at Verdant, just in case. They were to destroy everything in their path, except for two people. The Arrow and the A.D.A. Laurel Lance.

  Those two lives were Slade’s to take.

  He retreated to the inner anteroom to change out of his suit and into his Deathstroke armor. The final battle was rapidly approaching.

  * * *

  Isabel arrived to find Slade in his armor, helmet at his side. Fifteen soldiers—freshly returned from laying waste to the Arrow’s lair—milled about, awaiting their next task. She walked past them to talk with Slade.

  “Blood has been dispatched, as asked,” she said, “but his is not the body I want at the end of my sword.”

  “Then you’re in luck,” Slade replied. “Because it’s time we took the fight to the Arrow.”

  She smiled. Finally, she could issue payback to Felicity Smoak. She would kill her slowly, relishing every second of her pain.

  They heard a commotion out in the hall, at the elevator banks. They both turned to watch the Arrow enter, followed by Sara Lance in the uniform of the Canary. Isabel was shocked that Oliver would make such a brazen offensive move, when he lacked the numbers to support it.

  Slade was of the same mind.

  “You must have quite a bit of faith in this cure, if you’ve come alone,” he said.

  “We didn’t come alone,” Oliver responded. As if on cue, the office windows shattered inward as members of the League of Assassins—led by Nyssa al Ghul—swung their way in. They landed, firing arrows into the nearest mirakuru soldiers, dropping them instantly. They shook on the ground, their bodies wracked with spasms as the cure took effect.

  Oliver took aim, firing cure arrows at each of Slade’s shoulders. With simple shifting in his torso, Slade allowed his armor to deflect them. Then when Oliver squared his aim and fired at his eyehole, Slade cut the arrow off mid-flight.

  On the other side of the room, Isabel rushed Sara, her swords matched against Sara’s bō staff. She swung her blades in an arc, a hurricane of deadly movement, the sharp edges of her blades bearing down. Sara spun away, her staff twirling in the air, deflecting those deadly swipes.

  As they fought, the League of Assassins continued to dispatch Slade’s men. Seeing their numbers dwindle, Slade knew they were quickly being overmatched. Giving no mind to Isabel, he dashed toward an open window and leapt out, grasping an outside cable and zip lining to safety on the building below, too fast for Oliver to follow.

  Though she fought ferociously, Isabel’s mirakuru-enhanced skill was no match for Sara plus the League of Assassins. Nyssa launched an attack from behind, plunging a cure arrow into her bicep. Instantly her strength sapped, and Sara and Nyssa easily subdued her, the assassin kicking out Isabel’s leg, dropping her to her knees, and ripping off her helmet in quick succession.

  On instinct, Sara raised her bō staff, ready to deliver a killing blow.

  “Sara, don’t!” Oliver shouted. Sara lowered her weapon.

  Isabel just shot them a dirty look.

  “Kill me, don’t kill me,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. I beat you. I took away the one—”

  Nyssa grabbed Isabel’s head and bent it backward, using her knee as leverage. With a sickening snap, Isabel was dead. Her life ended in Robert Queen’s old office.

  24

  Slade’s escape took him to an abandoned industrial space located just outside of downtown, in the city’s factory district. Formerly a steel mill, the hallways were a labyrinth of concrete and copper piping, valves and gauges. It was where he intended to accomplish the end of his plan.

  He found one of his soldiers waiting there with Laurel Lance, having taken her from the police precinct. Though she tried to hide it, he could see the fear in her eyes—recognized it from their encounter in her apartment, when he told her Oliver was the Arrow.

  “Hello, Laurel,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me dispensing with formalities, but we’ve known each other far too long now not to call each other by our first names.”

  “You don’t know me, Mr. Wilson,” she said. “If you did, you’d know I’m poor bait.”

  “You are anything but,” he said. “Did you know I was with Oliver on that godforsaken island? I saw him look at your picture every day for a year. I know he loves you.”

  She looked startled at that revelation.

  “Oh, yes, Laurel—deep in Oliver’s heart, there is a very special place reserved just for you.” He got close to her, smiling with menace. “Your death will bring him unimaginable pain.”

  Laurel looked him in the eye, defiant. “He’ll stop you.”

  “But he’s already failed.”

  There was a buzz from a tablet, lying on a concrete platform—he had prepared the location, should he need it. The security cameras he had hidden throughout Queen Mansion were reporting new movement. Stepping over and lifting the tablet, he saw two figures enter the foyer—Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak. He listened in on their conversation.

  “Oliver,” she said. “What are we doing here? The whole city’s falling apart.”

  “I know,” he replied, and he led Felicity to the center of the room. “You need to stay here.”

  “What? Why? You can’t just ask me to—”

  “I’m not asking,” he said. “I’ll come and get you when this is all over.”

  “No!”

  Such loyalty, thought Slade. A pity its beneficiary is such a coward.

  “Felicity…” Oliver said, the utterance meant to silence her. Then he started to exit.

  “No,” she said again, following him. “Not unless you tell me why.”

  He turned back to face her. “Because I need you to be safe.”

  “Well, I don’t want to be safe. I want to be with you, and the others… unsafe.”

  “I can’t let that happen.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  Oliver pulled Felicity close. Slade recognized the look in his eyes, because it was the same way he had looked upon Shado.

  “Slade took Laurel because he wants to kill the woman I love.”

  “I know, so?”

  “So he took the wrong woman.”

  “Oh.”

  “I love you,” he said. “Do you understand?” He reached out and touched her arm, holding her hand. It was tender and sweet…

  “Yes.”

  …and it marked her for death.

  Slade watched as Oliver exited. He nodded to his soldier.

  “Go to Queen Mansion, and bring me Felicity Smoak.”

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, the soldier returned, dragging Felicity along. Her hair was disheveled from a night spent on the run, and she had a gash on her forehead, the blood long having clotted. Still, he could see her unassuming beauty. Of all the women in Oliver’s life, she was the most diminutive physically. Slade imagined t
hat she could scarcely harm a fly, let alone wield a weapon.

  He studied her, and took a Bluetooth headset she wore. It was incredibly disappointing, he mused, that this scared, frail twig was the love of Oliver’s life. Killing her would almost be a waste of his blade.

  “I must say, I’m surprised that a sniveling mess like you would win Oliver’s heart.”

  The insult seemed to snap her out of her fear.

  “One, it’s dusty in here,” she replied angrily. “And two, Oliver is not in love with me—”

  “Liar.” He jerked in her direction, and yelled not from anger, but to provoke a reaction. As expected, she jumped and let out an involuntary yelp.

  “And you’re just about the level of scary crazy person I was expecting,” she said, her words coming out rapid fire.

  “And you certainly talk a lot for being terrified,” Slade responded.

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Like I told Oliver, this cannot end until I take the one person he loves most in this world.”

  “Okay, fine, it’s me,” she said. “Little ol’ snivelly me has Oliver’s heart. So why not let Laurel go? She’s worth nothing to you.”

  So this woman possesses strength after all.

  “Perhaps,” Slade said, “but maybe I just want to see him suffer twice.”

  He walked off a few yards away and keyed the Bluetooth headset. Oliver answered on the other end.

  “Go.”

  “You’ve been busy, kid,” Slade said.

  “It’s over, Slade!” Oliver cried. “Your army is broken.”

  “And I pity them, but once again, you miss the point.” Slade flexed his hand, feeling the familiar tremor. He would relish this moment, one he had spent five years engineering. “I have the one you love. You’re going to meet me where I say. Otherwise, I’m going to kill her.”

  “You do what you have to. I’m done playing your games.”

  “You’re done when I say you’re done!” The rage boiled again in Slade. “I was surprised. I thought you had a thing for stronger women. But now that I’ve met her, I can see the appeal. She is quite lovely, your Felicity.”

  “What do you want, Slade?”

  “To see your face when I open her neck and stain her lovely skin with blood.”