There was always the hunt, he thought as his feet pounded the pavement, damp from the recent shower. Perhaps, he thought, he lived for the hunt. The feeling that flooded his system with adrenaline and drove him onwards in pursuit if the prey. Perhaps, he thought, the hunt was the fuel for his existence. The reason he'd retained his mantle as protector of the city. Perhaps it reminded him of those sessions long back which sharpened his skills, reflexes and instincts on that desolate island. Perhaps it was the baited hook which drifted through the night air and snared him into pursuing a quarry. Whatever the reason, that was where he found himself: in pursuit of a felon.
The street lights burst through the India ink blackness of the Starling City's night, washing the uneven pavings of the back alleys with fluorescent orange and yellows. Shadows belonging to the ordinary world around him were transformed into those of fantastic creatures or Neolithic structures. If he'd had the time maybe he would have stopped and taken note, instead he sped after his prey, eager to end the cause quickly and painlessly.
His bow had already sung tonight: once releasing an arrow that pinned one of the would be robbers of a seven-eleven to a wall and another which had unleashed an experimental bola arrow at the feet of another would be thief. This one hadn't been as successful. He had misjudged the angle slightly and it had ensnared a lamppost. The other thief had then taken off, hence the sprint through the back alleys.
The pursued man shot a glance over his shoulder at the hooded figure following him, then took a sharp right turn into a smaller alley filled with discarded boxes and other assorted detritus. The hooded man adjusted his feet and, instead of following the thief into the alley, leapt upwards and caught the railings of fire escape. His momentum allowed his legs to sweep in a majestic arc and bring his body over the railing on to the fire escape'a metal floor. In the alley below him the man he was chasing stumbled over countless boxes as the light grew dimmer and dimmer. Seeing an opportunity, the archer noticed another arrow on his bow string and readied a shot. The string tensed in his fingers and his sighted the man in the murky light of the alley below. His fingers twitched as he readied to release the arrow; he exhaled to steady his body, and -
"Hey!" came a woman's voice in his ear. "Are you even still alive?"
Oliver instantly recognised the voice of his assistant Felicity Smoak over the com link earpiece he wore. He was conscious that he hadn't checked in with her since he began his pursuit and was also conscious that he had somewhere he needed to be.
"Kind of busy right now," he whispered back through the microphone attract he'd to his throat. "In the middle of something."
"Really?!" she asked, he could hear her eyebrow arching in sarcasm. "Only I thought you had a dinner date with the Mega Rich Club of America tonight. Although I could be wrong."
"I'm on my way," he chuckled. "Just need to take out the trash."
"We'll don't be long," Felicity said, urgency crawling into her voice. "People are asking after you."
"Who?" The hooded man asked, then added quickly: "Hold on.. "
He adjusted his grip on the bow slightly and resighted his target. Then exhaled again and released the string letting the arrow fly into the darkness. It found its target, hitting the man square in the back. The arrow's impact sending him sprawling to the ground. However instead of the shaft imbedding itself between the man's shoulder blades, it exploded engulfing him in a green cloud which hardened instantaneously into a shell. The man struggled beneath it but was obviously trapped as the shell had attached itself to him and the floor of the alley. Oliver smiled. The new 'trick' arrows were working a treat.
"Hey!" called Felicity in his ear again. "Don't just cut me off!"
"Relax," Oliver whispered, swinging down into the alley to inspect his handy work., "I'm through here I'll be with you shortly."
"Good," Smoak snapped back. "Hurry up. There's an old guy trying to hit on me."
Oliver chuckled to himself and tapped the translucent cocoon that encased the man he'd been chasing. The chemical polymer in the experimental arrow seemed to work well, he thought. Maybe this is another first for Queen Consolidated: a gas that turned solid when it comes into contact with air. He thought of the practical applications and the markets that he could exploit. Then he remembered Felicity.
"This is a rich old guy?" Oliver smirked, biting his lip in an effort not to let his face crack into a braid smile. Whilst he didn't know the audience in the function Felicity was at, he knew the type of people that usually gravitated to them.
"Why the hell does that matter?" she snapped sharply. "He's gross. He has desert syndrome."
Oliver, climbing back up the fire escape and toward the building's roof, was puzzled by this response. "Desert Syndrome?" he quizzed. Perhaps this was a new condition that afflicted older people. He had visions of the man having a skin compliant that forced his face to resemble the Sahara, or a pigmentation issue that made him look yellow.
"You know," Smoak muttered back, "wandering palms."
Oliver, pulling himself onto the roof of the building, let out a belly laugh. An image filled his head of Felicity squirming, drink in one hand clutch bag in the other trying to evade the tactile gent that was talking to her.
"I'm on my way," he said. "I just need to call Lance."
John Diggle was waiting in the foyer of the Starling City Plaza when Oliver stepped out of a cab. He approached his boss with a mildly amused look and offered a curt handshake.
"Took your time," the security man said, raising an eyebrow. "People were beginning to doubt you were coming."
"You know how bad the traffic gets downtown," said Oliver, a grin spreading over his face, "and anyway, Felicity can take care or herself."
"You'd think," Diggle grinned back. Oliver patted him on the shoulder and directed him to the elevator. Their images were reflected in the mirrored interior of the steel box and Oliver took the time to regard his appearance: black tux, white shirt, bow tie. All present and correct. Okay, he thought, he could have shaved but, hey, not everyone had been tackling armed robbers tonight, right? Gimme a break. Diggle was dressed similarly. However, unlike Oliver, his friend always had an effortless look about his appearance. Like he had some machine he just stepped into that removed the excess wrinkles from the fabric of his clothes, that buffed his shoes and aced the lint. Oliver had put it down to his military training but it was more than that. The guy had style, he had to admit that.
"So," Oliver said presently, fingering his close cropped hair in the mirror gingerly, " what do I need to know about this soirée so that I neither embarrass myself or Queen Consolidated."
"Okay," Diggle said, "this is a basic tech expo launch party. You've got sellers and buyers mingling informally. You know, drinks, canopies -"
"Canapés," corrected Oliver.
"There's a difference?" shrugged Diggle.
"Pretty much," said Oliver. "Sorry Dig, carry on."
"Yeah, anyway," the other man continued, "this is where the basis for deals is done. The exhibitions and lectures over the next week give people chance to showcase work, but here is where the big deals are done in principle."
"So I'm not buying anything tonight," said Oliver. "Just networking and giving a promise to look at stuff."
"That's it," said Diggle.
"And I agreed to come because..." Oliver offered a look to Diggle which begged an answer.
"Because," Diggle grinned back," Queen Consolidated helped the city bid for the Expo and is the main sponsor. So it's through a sense of duty and trust. Or because you'll be screwed if you don't."
"Yeah," Oliver muttered. "Sounds about right."
The elevator chimed and the doors sprang open at the conference floor of the Plaza. The room seemed to be the size of a small aircraft hanger and filled with men dressed as Diggle and Oliver were and women who looked as though they had just stepped out of a dress shop window. Floating between them, balancing trays of drinks and canapés, were waiting staff dressed in white quarter jackets. Classical music swelled from hidden speakers but was not enough to mask the hum of conversation that was being emitted from the crowd.
A waiter swung passed with a tray of drinks and another offered a display of small pastries. Oliver picked up a glass of champagne and nodded a thanks to the waiter. Diggle selected what looked like a bite size pizza and popped it into his mouth. It tasted like eating a worn insole he decided and, once the waiter had moved one, discretely moved the object to a paper napkin and then into a nearby bin.
A figure detached themselves from a crowd and made a bee line form the two men. The determination in her walk and the look of annoyance on her face made Oliver feel as is this wasn't going to be a pleasant meeting.
"Felicity!" Oliver said, thrusting out his arms to embrace her as a form of greeting. "How good to see you!"
The blonde woman glared back. Her eyes narrowing to slits and her mouth pouting. It was obvious that she was not amused. However, demeanour aside, Oliver couldn't help but notice, well, her. Her long blonde her had been swept up into a Grecian goddess style with ringlets framing her pale face. The black dress she wore almost touched the ground and plunged deeply at the front with a regiment of pleats and ruffles disguising the curves that definitely there. It had no back, showcasing the contours of Felicity's body. The clinging fabric moved in sympathy with her which, had she been in a better mood, would have been farrow graceful and fluid.
"You look amazing, by the way," Oliver whispered to her, awe overcoming him. It had been he, of course, who had suggested she attend this function, and it was also he who had suggested she dress up. Although the results were not as he expected. He genuinely thought she looked fantastic.
"No wonder old guys are hitting on you," he added just to dampen the rogue feelings that just surfacing.
She fixed him with a hard look. Without her glasses, and with this make over, her face seemed different. Less familiar, less business-like. He knew all too well how attractive she was and many was the time he had had to check himself to maintain a professional relationship with her.
"Don't say I was doing it 'for the good of the team'," she said tersely, her finger jabbing him in the chest. "It wasn't funny. You get to throw down with petty crooks and dodge bullets. But let me tell you, dodging the fingers of a determined old codger is some feat too!"
"I wouldn't doubt it," Oliver said, barely able to stifle a grin, and holding up his hands in a show of defeat. He met her eyes and saw that there was no anger there. Their were soft and clear and, despite her outward demeanour, she meant him no malice.
"And don't forget it," she said, a smile almost breaking through on her lips too. Her tongue almost made an appearance too: cameoing on the ridge of her upper lip as she retained eye contact. Which was suddenly broken.
"Can we just back up here?" Diggle asked, somewhat uncomfortable with the tableaux before him. "Petty crooks? Is that what you are now, a foot cop with a bow?"
"Every little helps," said Oliver, forcing himself to drag his eyes from Felicity and onto Diggle. "Anyway, I was in the area. I thought I could help. I gave the details to Lance. He'll clean up the mess." Then Oliver added as an aside: "Plus it gave me the chance to use the new polymer arrow."
"I take it it worked?" asked Smoak distantly.
"Like a charm," Queen swung his gaze back to her and grinned like a schoolboy.
"Boys and their toys," she muttered and shook her head. Her ringlets swirled like minor cyclones as she did so, again drawing Oliver's attention to her face.
"That's me," he countered, still smiling." So, coming back to business, what's the 411?"
"I thought you'd never ask," snorted Diggle, and placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder to manoeuvre him to face various parts of the room. " Like I said before: buyers and sellers. Over here," he aimed Oliver at the right of the room, " mainly tech guys: computers and telecoms. Over here," now the left, " chemicals and pharmaceuticals. Low grade and high grade people. They tend to gravitate to their own. No products just talk."
"Anyone I should know about?" said Oliver searching the crowds for anyone whom he recognised from the trade magazines or the news journals that usually piled up on his desk.
"There are a few people of note," Diggle replied and pointed at a throng of people. " The lady over there with pale green dress is Pamela Isley, a botanist."
"Oliver isn't one for flowers," trilled Felicity, fixing Queen with a tight smile. He smirked.
"I'll give her a miss," he said. "Anyone else?"
"Yeah," replied Diggle, somewhat wary of Smoak's ire. "Over there are technology expert Hector Hammond and talking to him Jervis Tetch."
"Or Jervis Letch!" spat Felicity. Oliver raised an eyebrow.
"I take it you two have met," he said, amusement washing his face. "Maybe you should introduce us."
"Yeah?" Smoak said, her arms folded tightly across her chest, "That's not going to happen. Although if you want to talk to Officer Lance about him you can take his fingerprints from my back."
"I'll have a quiet word," Diggle said to her. Then, turning back to Oliver he said: "There was someone else but I can't see him."
"Oh," replied Queen, "who's that?"
Then, from the floor below them came a slight disturbance. They looked up to see the crowds of people being pushed to one side to allow a man and his entourage passage. Statements like "out of the way" and "coming through" were uttered as a security team cleared a route for the parade. In the middle was tall man whose muscular frame was barely hidden by his elegantly tailored tuxedo. His age, however, was difficult for Oliver to determine due to his completely bald head.
"Who's that?" repeated Oliver with revised meaning.
"That's the guy you should meet," whispered Diggle.
The big man barked orders at his courtiers and began to walk up the stairs towards Oliver and his friends.
"Queen!" the man barked when he was face to face with Oliver. The other man's eyes bore into him, as if attempting to burn two holes in Oliver's skull.
"And you are?" asked Oliver extending a hand in a formal gesture. The other man ignored it.
"Luthor," he snarled back. "Lex Luthor. You've heard of me, I'm sure. I own most of the tech businesses from Metropolis to Central City. And those I don't aren't worth owning."
"Sorry," said Oliver, adopting a blank look,"what did you say your name was? I've been away for a while. I'm not up to speed on the social scene."
"Lex. Luthor," the other man said slowly and loudly. "You're not amusing Queen. Only a man so unsure of his own worth would resort to crude attempts at humour to gain acceptance from their, albeit meagre, entourage."
"I was being serious," shrugged Oliver, " but hey, you know best, right?"
"Don't push your luck, Queen," spat Luthor. "I'm actually the main reason people decided to come to this second rate side show. If you're still around later I will be demonstrating my new network relay system. You will learn a lot."
"I thought this was a networking session," offered Felicity. "Not a show and tell."
Luthor cocked an eyebrow at her and snorted: "As I said, honey, I'm the reason these people are here. Don't think for a second people come to Starling City due to the lure of Queen here, toots. I mean even Wayne didn't bother turning up."
"I'll bear it in mind," she said back, trembling slightly at Luthor's tirade.
"You do that," the big man turned his back, made a gesture to his perimeter of people and began to walk away. Then, mid stride, he turned and spoke directly to Felicity: "And if you're looking for a career advancement, look up Lex Corp in Metropolis. There's always openings in the secretarial pool."
Then he was gone, flooding back into the crowd on the floor below.
"Wasn't he a treat!" Diggle chuckled and turned to Oliver. Queen's jovial mood had obviously been eroded by by the meeting with Luthor. His friend's face now bore deep furrows in his wrinkles brow and pursed lips of thought. Oliver's arm snakes out and he squeezed Felicity's shoulder. He could feel her still shaking after her encounter with the big man and he knew his efforts to calm her wouldn't go very far. He tried anyway.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly. His eyes meeting her's briefly as she broke her gaze away from the retreating magnate.
"Yeah," she stammered, her voice breaking slightly as tears threatened to appear at her eyes. "I'm fine. I've just never met a man so, well, rude."
"Yeah," added Diggle. "What's his beef? The guy's a jerk."
"And a powerful one at that," murmured Oliver. "And let's not forget, John, you wanted me to meet him."
"We all make mistakes," Diggle pleaded in defence, his hand splayed in capitulation as he shrugged his shoulders.
Oliver grinned. "Okay," he said, "let's mingle. Let's see what other crack pots and crazies are out there."
They all nodded and walked across the room to where the rest of the convention awaited.
By and large, the party (because, essentially that's what it was) was just as Oliver had expected. A throng of inventors, engineers and general oddities shook his hand and pitched him their ideas whilst he stood before them sipping champagne and wondering whether the investment of money, time and effort in this whole EXPO thing had been worth while. Of course, he'd had his reasons. The primary one was to drum up opportunities for Queen Consolidated. After the very public self destruction of the company over the last year it was essential for him to find new investment and build trust with a city - and the wider public - so that they became a growth company again. On balance, however, this parade of crazed entrepreneurial spirit wasn't, on the surface anyway, going to help that process. Maybe Luther had been right. Maybe this was a sideshow and maybe he just wasn't cut out for this business.
He was just about to listen to a man called Freis tell him about cryogenic chambers and their impact on treating disease when Felicity slid her arm into his and began to pull him away.
"Please excuse us," she said hurriedly to Oliver's audience. "I need Mr Queen's for a few minutes."
Oliver smiled at the scientist, who looked slightly aggrieved at him leaving, and gave his best 'be right back' look and followed Smoak's lead towards another part of the room where Diggle was waiting.
"Okay," Oliver sighed, "this is madness. What did you guys turn up?"
"Beside uncovering that virtually everyone in this room is a whacko?" Felicity offered. " Not much."
"I did find out something about Luthor's little floor show," Diggle said. Oliver raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "I was checking in with the hotel security chief and he gave me the low down on Luthor. He's booked out and entire floor of the hotel for the equipment and his security staff."
"Did we know about this?" quizzed Oliver, his face creasing into a harsh frown.
"No. He booked ahead," Diggle said, shrugging. "I wasn't told about it even though we've been discussing security for weeks. Apparently Luthor's a law unto himself. Apparently, the network relay has an independent power source and Luthor has a team of technicians working twenty four seven on it."
"That doesn't sound good," said Oliver. "Why?"
"Maybe the generator is experimental," theorised Felicity. "If so, it could be unstable. He's need to keep it monitored."
"Sounds plausible," Oliver nodded.
"I'll have more of a feel of what's happening form now on," Diggle held up an ear piece. "It's surprising what a little persuasion can do."
Oliver giggled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. He then became distracted by a vibration coming from his jacket pocket. He slid he hand inside and withdrew a smartphone.
"Who's calling the vigilante hotline?" joked Diggle. Oliver grinned.
"Lance," he said simply, silencing the phone and sloping it back into his pocket. "It can wait."
He turned back to the others and said: " It may be an idea to have a look around the device Luthor's got upstairs, this city doesn't need another disaster."
"The floor's locked down," said Diggle. "You won't get up there."
"Maybe this isn't a job for me, per se," said Oliver winking.
"I think it may have to wait," said Felicity tugging at Oliver's sleeve. "The entertainment is about to start."
A melodic ringing filled the air and they suddenly became aware that the steady drone of background noise was falling away. They turned to see Luthor standing in the middle of the room with a glass raised in one hand. In the other he held a pen, which he was tapping rhythmically against the glass.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Luthor began," it is a great honour to be here today as a guest of this city and of Mr Queen, without whom this would not be possible."
Luthor waived vaguely in Oliver's direction, having spies him earlier, and led a burst of congratulatory applause to which Oliver smiled off.
"Who actually gave him permission to demonstrate this relay?" he whispered to Digggle out of the corner of his mouth.
"He didn't so much as ask for permission," the other man replied, "as made it a condition of his attendance."
"So if we'd said 'no'," queried Oliver, "he wouldn't've come?"
"You don't say 'no' to Lex Luthor," exhaled Diggle.
"Is that so, John?" hummed Oliver, "Is that so?"
When they retuned their attention to the big man, he had somehow conjured a screen from thing air and there where vaguely complex diagrams covering its surface. The drawings made little sense to Oliver. Digggle shrugged his own confusion when Queen passed him a quizzical look. It appeared that only Felicity, who had donned her spectacles for closure inspection, was taking enough notice of what was being said to be interested.
Oliver turned to her and began to say something when the room was engulfed in darkness. The lights had already been dimmed for Luthor's presentation so this wasn't a massive change in visibility. However, the screen displaying his graphics also went dark. Screams of panic and cries of confusion spread through the audience. The hotel security security chief's voice could be heard asking for calm and stating that the emergency lighting would be kicking in soon.
"There's a power outage," Diggle hissed to Oliver.
"Now's a good time to see what's Luthor's up to," Oliver whispered back. "Cover for me."
"Twenty sixth floor," Diggle said, his finger touching the comlink in his ear. "There's all sorts of panic going on up there."
"I'm right on it," Oliver replied and, after squeezing Felicity's shoulder as way of a goodbye, left the party through the fire exit and headed up the stairs.
In planning this evening's event Oliver and Diggle had scouted the area surrounding the main ballroom for possible security risks. This involved establishing those places where bombs could be secreted and gunmen could hide away. An advantage of being able to coordinate such an exercise was that they were able to locate a suitable place for a set of vigilante gear: leggings, hooded top, quarrel and Ollie's spare bow. After a quick change, he fired a line up the stairwell and held on as it pulled up him up to the twenty sixth floor.
Once he was at the required landing, he pushed open the fire escape door quietly and entered the floor. He could hear the yells of confusion and the barking of orders as Luthor's security detachment set to work to protect the technology housed in the penthouse. The emergency lighting had come into play so the whole scene was washed in dull orange. There was enough light to see however there wasn't enough to observe the details of objects. This was to his advantage and, flattening himself to the wall he began to move in the direction of the commotion.
It wasn't long before he saw a throng of what looked like lightly armed troops standing guard over a door and a number of white coated technicians looking worried in the semi darkness. There was obviously panic afoot, and the wariness of the technicians made Oliver think there was mistrust between these two factions.
"It looks like the floor's been breached," whispered Oliver into his throat mike.
"Has the emergency lighting come on?" Felicity's voice cackles in his ear. "We seem to have some order here. Mr Luthor's not happy though. I think he may be on his way up."
"I'll look out for him," said Oliver and began to move down the corridor away from the guards. It was obvious that the heavily guarded room was where the machine was being kept. It was also obvious that unless someone had their own private army, they went getting in there. Alive anyway. Oliver weighed up the alternatives and decided that if someone was aiming to steal the technology (or sabotage it even) they may have already decided that it was a bad idea and was looking for a way out. That's said, the options available would be limited. He ticked them off in his head, narrowing them down: There was the stairwell where he had emerged from, the lift which was powered down, which left the roof.
Checking he was away from guards he ran down the corridor to the door that led to the roof exit. Once there he gingerly opened the door and peeked inside. Darkness shrouded the stairs beyond and, he knew, it would also hide anything else that was lurking. Knowing there was no other alternative he heaved the door open and started up the stairs. The door to the roof was already open and he dived through, rolling onto the roof beyond, coming up into a kneeling attack stance with his bow in hand, arrow notched.
For fleeting second he saw a figure: a woman dressed in a black tight fitting jump suit, goggles and a skull cap that looked as, we'll, if it had ears? She noticed him instantly and threw her arm downwards in a sharp arc. The result was a brilliant, white light that burned into Oliver's eyes. For a second he was blinded. He rubbed his eyes furiously and tried to stand. By the time he'd orientated himself the woman had vanished and he could hear the guards on the stairs below. Now was a good time for an exit. Still a little dazed he laughed another arrow into the air and rose the line down into the night below.