1. The Black Hole Of Starling City
A big, blood-red moon, the bastard son of drizzly fog and industrial pollution, floated ominously in the deathly-still night sky. It gave Starling City a sickly hue that even the brightly-lit buildings of a modern city could only ever-so-slightly resist. But one corner of the city, the Glades, didn't even have brightly-lit buildings, or light, to help it get through the gloomy night. The earthquake, the manmade earthquake, had left a black hole behind. No buildings, no streets, no power, no people, no nothing. Except petty criminals picking the bones. And, that particular night, a couple of reckless teens taking a shortcut to a be-there-or-die party.
"Malcolm Merlyn must be doing cartwheels in his grave," the young man said as they walked down the middle of a crumbled street, lined with the remains of collapsed buildings.
"Why do you say that?" the pretty young woman replied as she pulled closer, hoping for a little warmth, maybe another kiss.
"Because the Glades is still a mess, gone, just like he wanted. And nobody's seriously interested in fixing it."
"Yeah. But you'd think greedy businessmen would be flocking to make money. You know, rebuilding."
"Oh, they will. Someday," he scoffed. "When the owners finally run out of money and sell the property to them. For peanuts."
"More like peanut shells," she said. "I know my father can't afford to fix his building, not without rents coming in."
"Yeah, I heard . . ." Before he could finish, three men stepped out of the darkness and approached them. Something about them - their clothing, their body language, but mostly their eyes - said trouble. He pulled his girlfriend even closer to him and turned to go the other direction. But three more similar men blocked their way. "Hey man," he said looking around, "we don't want any trouble."
"Why, that's very fortunate," one of the men, the apparent leader, said with a chilly smile, "because neither do we." His comrades smiled at that, not friendly smiles. They could have been clones, they were so similar. Tall, thin, pale, shaggy silver hair, dressed in black, stylishly so, twenty-something with cryptic tattoos and body-piercing. Thin dark lips and long, skeletal fingers with feral nails. And eyes, intimidating luminous eyes, the sort you might expect to find on an animal - a leopard or a wolf or some other predatory animal. The men came closer, like a pack of wolves stalking its prey, forming a tight circle around the teens.
"What do you want?" the young man asked, his voice trembling. "We don't have any money." He held out his arm. "You can have my watch."
The leader took the proffered arm and smiled at the watch. "I'm afraid I already have a watch," he said, holding up his left arm, revealing a gold Rolex. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. No money, no valuables; nothing to pay for your passage through our territory." At that, the others laughed, a mixture of amusement and contempt. "You have to pay something, you know, it's the law; our law, anyway." He turned to the man next to him, "What shall we take, Jared?"
"Oh, I don't know . . . maybe a pound of flesh, Adrian, my brother," Jared said as long, sharp fangs slid from his mouth, pushing his lips aside, drooling saliva, "or a pint of tasty, warm blood." Instantly, the others followed his lead and sported fangs.
"Nooooo . . . !"
The teens tried to run. But powerful arms closed around them, tightening like coiling pythons. They were trapped. The more they struggled, the tighter the embrace. From all sides, they felt slimy, wet tongues exploring their necks.
"I think we should be adult about this, my brothers," Adrian said, "and save the pretty one for dessert."
"Which is the pretty one?" Jared said. They all laughed, pulling the teens apart.
"You're quite right," Adrian said. "Maybe we should . . ."
"Do nothing," a calm, but emphatic, voice said from the dark. The attackers immediately froze and turned toward the voice. Out of the shadows appeared an elegant older man. Like the others, he was tall, thin, pale, silver haired, dressed in an expensive black suit with a long cape. Lips, fingers, nails, eyes - all the same. Especially the eyes. Just older and more stately.
"Gideon . . ." Adrian said with a mixture surprise and respect, and a touch of fear.
"I send my beloved sons on a simple mission, and what do they do?" Gideon's eyes twinkled mischievously. "They decide to have . . . fun."
"We're way ahead on our quota," Adrian pleaded, "so we thought we'd just . . ." A slight wave of Gideon's hand stopped him.
Gideon walked, more like floated, to join them. He reached out with delicate hands and gently, affectionately, stroked the teen's faces. "So young. So healthy. So beautiful," he savored as if he was admiring priceless treasures by Michelangelo. He smiled, with genuine warmth and affection the teens naively thought. "Bring them. Gently. They'll make excellent stock," he said as he turned and disappeared back into the dark.
.
2. The Missing
The nine-foot, solid-oak door burst open and Oliver Queen stormed out, an arm around Laurel Lance, leading her forward, as a herd of suits followed them out of the lavish conference room into the equally-lavish waiting room. John Diggle, sitting in the corner, stood and joined the parade. Oliver nodded politely to the receptionist and hurried Laurel through the entry door, already held open by Diggle.
"Except for you, Laurel," Oliver said, "I could live my entire life without lawyers."
"They just don't like having a nobody like me on the team," she said, "a team of billion-dollar lawyers."
"My mother probably would've been executed by now, if it wasn't for you. They lack imagination."
"Don't get discouraged, Ollie. Everything will turn out. I'm sure."
"I'm not," he replied, frowning, "but I'm less unsure with you onboard."
A few minutes later, they were on the freeway heading home. From the driver's seat, Diggle handed Oliver the morning paper. "Two more disappearances last night," he said. "In the Glades, again." Oliver unfolded the paper to the front page and shared it with Laurel. It was the lead story, as usual.
"This is terrible," Laurel said. "It keeps happening, night after night, and nobody knows what's going on or who's doing it."
"Yeah, something bad, real bad, is going on," Oliver agreed.
"My father says the police don't have a clue."
Oliver stared out the window, thinking. Diggle saw him in the rearview mirror; he knew exactly what was going through his mind. He almost felt sorry for the perpetrators.
.
3. A Business Offer
Between the strobe lights and the pounding music, it was surprising that anyone in the place still had a brain that hadn't been reduced to quivering gelatin. Verdant, Oliver's flashy club, was rocking that night. Like every night. It was the place to be if you were young and hip, or liked to fantasize you were. Oliver was proud of it, for sure, but mostly as a cover for his late-night crime-fighting adventures. It was also a continual source of pain; it simply wasn't the same without Tommy running it - a never-ending reminder that Tommy was gone.
Oliver sat at a small table, with Laurel, in a corner of the mezzanine, talking; about themselves, their families, the community, the earthquake, his mother's socially-embarrassing predicament. And Tommy. Always Tommy.
From his vantage point, he could watch the entire club, especially the main entrance, allowing him to greet people he thought needed greeting and unleash security on people he thought needed removal. As they talked, he noticed someone new, someone unusual. He focused on them.
In a room full of outrageously-dressed people, the couple stood out. Young, eccentrically but elegantly well-dressed in black, regal body language - they looked like 'old money'. But he knew all the 'old money' families in town, and these didn't look remotely familiar. Even those he hadn't actually met, he'd seen in those snooty magazines his mother forced him to read, or at least browse the head shots.
And there was something else about them. Something a little off. Something troubling. His curiosity was definitely piqued. He turned back to Laurel, having missed everything she'd said for the last several minutes; something about a legal maneuver.
He smiled boyishly. "Let's go mingle," he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the stairs.
When they reached the main floor, he couldn't find the couple in the crowd of surging bodies and flashing lights. So he took Laurel to the bar to get something to drink. He wasn't really thirsty, but he always felt more comfortable with something in his hand. So did she. They'd discussed it in depth one long, painful evening. Drinks in hand, they turned from the bar, his search about to resume. To his surprise, the couple was standing directly in front of them, looking directly at him, through very expensive wraparound Italian sunglasses. Probably a good idea in here, Oliver thought, to keep from going blind.
"Ah, Mr. Queen, I believe," the man said, smiling. "I'd hoped we might meet." He bowed slightly in a formal, old world manner. "Oh, I hope I'm not intruding . . ."
"Not at all," Oliver said. "We always like to meet our guests." He nodded toward Laurel. "Uh, this is Laurel Lance."
"Delighted to meet you," the man said, bowing again. He motioned toward the young woman he was with. "This is Tosca; but we just call her Tosh. And I'm Adrian Night; that's night without a K." They shook hands and muttered the usual insincere pleasantries.
"I'm afraid I don't recognize the name," Oliver said. "New in town?"
"Yes," Adrian said, "we're from Europe, Paris to be precise. My father just bought the Castle residence. Most elegant; we don't even miss our place in Paris."
The Castle residence, Oliver thought, where Maurice Castle used to live until I, AKA the Hood, put him out of business. "The Castle place. I knew the family well. Some of my oldest friends."
"Indeed," Adrian gushed, "small world, isn't it."
"So," Oliver said, "what brings you to Starling City? Not exactly Paris."
"Indeed, but very nice just the same. Especially with a club like this. Better than they have in Paris."
"Thanks. We try." Oliver was still curious. "Are you here for business of just a change of scenery?"
"Both, actually. In fact, I was hoping I'd find you here tonight. My father asked me to make you a business proposition if I happened to run into you."
Oliver grimaced. "Sorry, but I don't really get involved in family business. Too much like, you know, business. But I can point you to the right people."
"I'm sorry, I was unclear," Adrian said, placing the palm of his right hand on his chest. "It's Verdant we're interested in."
"Verdant?"
"Yes. You see, my father, Gideon Night, would very much like to buy it. He'd make you a very generous offer."
Oliver looked surprised for a moment, then chuckled. "Sorry. Not for sale. It's sort of my adult security blanket."
"I see," Adrian replied, suddenly not smiling for the first time. "My father will be very . . . disappointed."
"Sorry." Oliver glanced at Laurel. "He can always start his own. You know what they say, competition's good for everyone."
"I'll be sure to pass that on to him," Adrian said, his smile returning. "It's been a pleasure meeting you. And Miss Lance." He took Tosh's arm, somewhat roughly, and headed for the door, almost running.
"He certainly didn't look happy," Laurel said.
"Yeah, downright scared, I'd say."
.
4. The Dark Night
Gideon Night was genuinely displeased as Adrian had feared. But undeterred. He always got what he wanted, one way or the other. Frequently, 'the other'; he always liked a good challenge, too.
"Again, I send you out with one, simple task," Gideon scolded, "and you fail."
"But, father, I did everything you . . ."
"Enough with the father nonsense. That's only in public. How many times do I have to tell you?"
"I'm sorry. Gideon." Adrian got a stern look in return. "Uh, Mr. Night."
"Given the circumstances, I think sir might be more appropriate."
"Of course, sir," Adrian repeated, bowing his head. "As I was saying, he was absolutely . . ."
"Enough excuses! Verdant will be the center of our recruitment," Gideon thought. "If we can't do it the easy way, then we'll just have to do it the hard way." He smiled icily. "Did you, by any chance, meet that very pretty sister of his?" Adrian shook his head. "Pity. Now, what if she were to disappear? Why, he'd be devastated, of course; his only sibling and his poor mother detained. Dear me. Do you think he'd be willing to sell the club for her return?"
"Hell, he'd probably trade it for her return."
"Indeed, my clever . . . son," Gideon purred. "But, I'm not greedy. I'll buy it. He'll beg me to buy it."
.
5. Verdant Underground
Oliver had a bad feeling about the Night family. But he needed more than just a gut feeling. So, when in doubt, call in the troops: Felicity Smoak, resident expert on everything, at least everything accessible over the Internet. As usual, she was surrounded by her beloved computers in their lair under the club; Verdant Underground, she'd nicknamed it.
"Well, if it's any consolation," Diggle said, "I got the same feeling. I was in the corner, watching. The guy totally creeped me out."
"We still need more than a gut feeling," Oliver said. "Could just be indigestion. Besides, we don't need a wild goose chase with all those disappearances happening. We don't exactly have the resources of the FBI." He turned to Felicity. "So, Ms. Wizard, anything?"
"I'm not sure," she said, scrolling the computer display in front of her. "Gideon Night seems to come and go."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, he's like a ghost. Names, residences, companies, bank accounts, etc., etc., etc. As I go farther back in time, everything changes. For example, in 1979, his name changed from Basil Night to Gideon Night. No formal records. Just everything that belonged to Basil suddenly belonged to Gideon."
"Maybe father to son? Oliver speculated.
"I don't think so. No birth certificate. Not death certificate. Nothing."
"A nephew? An uncle, maybe?"
"No record of anyone like that," Felicity shook her head, puzzled. "Wealthy, prominent old families have records coming out their ears. Nothing. He just seemed to change into another person. Poof!"
"What about a wife?" Diggle asked.
"Numerous, actually. But no record of any of them ever having children. And Night seems to have six sons. No birth certificates for any of them, though. Very curious. And one other tidbit." She got that look on her face, that look Oliver always liked - and feared.
"Should I sit down?" he asked, dropping into the chair next to her.
"Oh yeah!" she said. "Being very prominent, his records go way back. And our mysterious Mr. Night has been changing names for hundreds of years."
"You're sure it's the same guy?"
"Absolutamente, Kemosabe."
"Huh!" Diggle gasped. "How's that even possible?"
"Not a clue," Oliver said, "but I'm going to find out."
.
6. That Date From Hell
"I shouldn't say this," Thea Queen said, wiping mustard off her face, "but, given a choice, I'd pick this place, and the food, over any of the ritzy places my family eats at. Mom would curl up and die if she heard me say that. Preferring Gonzo's burgers and fries over La Croix's caviar and escargot is no contest. Game over!" She laughed.
Roy Harper, Thea's current boyfriend, smiled; he liked it when Thea laughed, something she didn't do often enough. "Frankly, I wouldn't know," he said, finishing the last of his Coke. "I've never tasted any of that gourmet stuff. I'm from the Glades, remember?"
"You haven't missed much. It's either fishy or slimy. Or both." She gagged.
He looked at his watch. "Well, it's getting late. I'd better get you home."
"Oh, come on! It's still early." She gave him a sideways look, cartoonish and accusatory at the same time. "You're not afraid of Oliver, are you? He's really a pussycat. Honest."
"Yeah, a really big pussycat." He forced a smile. "Let's go."
A few minutes later, they rolled into the driveway of the Queen estate on Roy's Honda 'Rebel' motorcycle. Thea liked to ride on his bike because it gave her an opportunity to hug him, without being obvious. He approached the house slow with no sharp turns in case Oliver happened to be watching. It wasn't so much that he was intimidated by Thea's brother, it was that he respected him for being so protective; that's what a big brother is for.
As he walked her to the door, three men stepped out of the bushes, blocking their way. They were tall and lean and threatening, dressed in black. Roy instinctively stepped in front of Thea.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"Why, we're just here for a pickup, boy," one of them said. "And you have the pretty little package we came for." They leaped.
"Run!" Roy said to Thea, "and scream!" She turned and ran toward the house, shouting for help. Roy stretched both arms wide and threw himself at the attackers, slamming into them, sending them tumbling backward, landing on top of them. One broke free, kicked Roy, then ran after Thea.
The attackers hadn't realized that the 'boy' with Thea was going to be quite so difficult. He jumped up and ran to protect Thea. But before he got very far, something hard hit him on the head from behind. Everything went black.
When he woke, he was too groggy to see, but he could feel someone touching him. He impulsively swung. "Whoa! Hold it, Roy," a voice said, "it's Oliver. What happened? Where's Thea?" As his eyes focused, he could see people around him silhouetted against flashing multi-colored lights. There were tinny voices crackling in the distance.
"They . . . they took her," Roy stammered. "Got to . . ." He tied to get up.
"Who took her?" Oliver asked, concern in his voice.
"I don't know. Three guys. Tall. Dressed in black. Silver hair. Eyes . . . spooky eyes. Told her to run. Tried to stop them. Tried . . ."
"It's okay. Just rest," Oliver said, patting Roy on the shoulder. He stood, getting out of the way of the paramedics, and joined Detective Quentin Lance, who was talking to Martha, the upstairs maid.
". . . what you remember," Lance was saying. "Everything you saw."
"Just relax, Martha," Oliver said, taking her hand.
"Well, I was looking out the window, upstairs, at the moon," she began, "when I saw Thea and her boyfriend returning home. Then I saw three men come out of the bushes. Toward them."
"What did they look like?" Lance asked.
"Oh, all dressed in black with light hair. All I could see from a distance. But they came at them, real fast. Thea's boyfriend pushed her away and she ran toward the house, screaming."
"Is that when you dialed 911?" Lance asked.
"Oh no!" Martha said emphatically. "Called as soon as they came out of the bushes."
"Then what happened?"
"It all happened so fast. Uh, let me see, while Thea ran, her boyfriend tackled them. Knocked them all down and started slugging. I thought he was getting the best of them. But one of them got loose and kicked him in the head, ran after Thea. The other two went after Roy something awful. But he still gave them a fight. Until that cobblestone to the head."
"What about Thea?" Oliver asked.
"Oh, of course," Martha replied. "I'm afraid he got her before she made it to the door. She resisted, so he slapped her, slapped her so hard it knocked her out. It was horrible! Then they carried her away."
"Where did they go?" Lance asked.
"Out the gate, down the street. I didn't see a car or anything. I called the other staff and we ran outside."
"Okay, that's all for now," Lance said. "We'll get a formal statement from you tomorrow."
Martha nodded to Detective Lance and turned to leave. She saw Oliver and said, "I'm so sorry . . ."
"You did all you could, Martha," Oliver said, smiling. He gave her a quick hug and let her leave. He turned to Lance. "Any leads, Detective?"
"None. But I've already got some of my best people on it. I may not think much of you, but your sister . . . We'll get her back."
Oliver nodded, unsure how to reply, and walked away, Diggle at his side.
"So, what now?" Diggle said.
"I'm not sure. But black clothes, silver hair and spooky eyes . . . I wonder what Adrian Night's sunglasses were hiding?"
.
7. A Late Night Visit
Oliver, in full Vigilante regalia, crouched on a tree branch at the old Castle residence, looking in the window of the opulent living room. Getting on the grounds and moving around had been nearly impossible. Night had more security than Maurice Castle ever had. And, when you're engaged in international crime, like Maurice, you're obsessed with security. That made Oliver even more suspicious. Why so much security? It just added to his gut feeling that told him Night had something to do with Thea's abduction. But he didn't see her in the room. Nor could he hear anything at his distance with the windows closed.
He took out a pair of folding binoculars and surveyed the family gathering - father and six sons. He zoomed in and got a closer look at the only one he recognized, Adrian. And an even closer look at his eyes, his 'spooky' eyes. Curious, he scanned the entire family and found the same eyes in all but one. But, as he watched, the family freak removed contact lenses revealing another pair of strange eyes. "Genetic trait?" he wondered aloud. And all were relatively tall, silver-haired and dressed in black. Just like Thea's abductors.
As he continued to watch, a servant entered the room carrying a tray of drinks. They each took one, then toasted to something. He zoomed a glass. It definitely wasn't Cab or Zin, he realized. Or tomato juice. He suddenly felt cold all over. His gut feeling suddenly became a deadly certainty: they had Thea. He had to find her. And fast.
He jumped from tree to tree, looking in every window on both floors, except the tower, which was too high and the windows dark. But saw nothing. Then he dropped to the ground and managed to elude the ubiquitous security guards. He climbed in an unlocked basement window and spent the next hour searching for Thea; again nothing.
"Where do they have her?" he agonized, "where!"
.
8. A Friendly Visit
The ancient butler opened the massive carved wooden door. He saw a young man, casually dressed, standing on the porch. "May I help you, sir?" he said.
"Yes," the man said in his most relaxed manner, "I'd like to see Gideon Night."
"Of course," came the well-worn reply. "Is he expecting you?"
"No, but I think he's anxious to see me. Tell him it's Oliver Queen."
"Very good, sir," the butler said as he stepped aside, bowing slightly. "Won't you please come in." He led Oliver to a small room off the foyer. "Please make yourself comfortable while I alert the master." He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Oliver looked around. He recognized the room. He'd been in it many times. The coffered ceiling, the paneled walls, the ornate fireplace. Only the furniture was different; but just as elegant as Maurice had, just different. He heard the floor squeak behind him and turned. Even though he hadn't heard the door open or footsteps, two men were standing there. An older man, Gideon Night, and a younger man, Adrian. Hiding behind contacts.
Oliver stepped forward, with his very best fake smile, extending his hand. "Gideon Night, I presume," he said pleasantly, but not too pleasantly. "And Adrian."
"How kind of you to visit," Gideon said with an exotic Slavic accent. "Adrian told me all about you. And your most wonderful club."
"Did he? Exaggerations, I'm sure."
"Oh, I never exaggerate, Mr. Queen," Adrian said, smirking. A quick glance from Gideon and the smirk changed to a smile.
"He mentioned that you might be interested in buying the Verdant. So I decided to take the bull by the horns and avoid a stampede of lawyers."
"Bull by the horns . . ." Gideon repeated, looking puzzled.
"An old American saying. Grab the bull's horns before they gore you." Oliver smiled, slightly menacing. "It might be in both our interests to sell the club. If you know what I mean."
"Indeed. What changed your mind?" Adrian asked.
"My sister. She can be very persuasive at times." Oliver glared at him. "Perhaps you've met her."
"I don't believe I . . ."
Gideon interrupted. "Excellent, then. We have a deal, as you Americans are so fond of saying. We should celebrate." He touched his lapel; the door instantly opened and the butler entered. "Talbot. Bring us that bottle of champagne I've been saving. And glasses." The butler nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
"And your side of the bargain," Oliver said, not a question.
"Why, as soon as ownership transfers, Mr. Queen," Gideon said, businesslike.
"I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers first thing in the morning," Oliver said, also businesslike.
"Excellent!"
.
9. Close Encounter
Thea tired of pounding on the door and turned around. For the umpteenth time she surveyed the room she was in. She knew it well. The Castle tower room. She'd been in it many times as a child, playing with Jeremiah. The furniture even looked the same. The only difference she could see were the interior shutters blocking the small slit windows.
"Let me out of here!" she shouted, pounding on the door again. Suddenly, she heard a key turn in the lock. She stopped pounding and stepped back, bumping into the bed at the other side of the small, circular room. The door opened and a young man came in. She didn't recognized him, but he looked familiar, like the men who'd abducted her.
"What's going on?" she demanded. "Who are you?"
Adrian Night closed the door behind him and stood, staring at Thea, wearing a hungry smile. She didn't like what she saw. He, on the other hand, liked what he saw: a pretty young woman with a hint of fear in her eyes.
"Is Roy, my boyfriend, alright?"
He met her eyes. "Nothing a bottle of aspirin and a few stitches won't fix." He could see she looked slightly relieved. "But I'm more concerned about you, Miss Queen. I do hope you're comfortable. If there's anything you need, just ask."
"Great! I want out. Now!"
"Anything but that, I'm afraid. But, fear not, you won't be here long."
"What do you want with me?"
"Why, that would be telling." He smirked, reaching for her. She pulled back, stumbling, until she hit the hard, stone wall. "In the meantime, why don't we get to know each other a little better. I think you'll find I can be quite delightful." He grabbed her, pulling her toward him.
She pushed him away. But he just smiled and moved toward her again, his smile replaced by a predatory leer. With nowhere to run, she slapped him across the face, hard enough to spin his head to the side. When he turned back to her, she gasped and recoiled from him. Her slap had knocked a contact lens out. His real eye caused a chill to go up her spine.
"What . . . are you?" she said.
"Nothing you'd want to encounter alone in a dark alley," he said as long, sharp fangs spread his lips aside, drool running down his chin. Then he grabbed her, only to abruptly stop. He stood, motionless, his eyes closed as if listening to something. He opened his eyes and glared at her. "I hate to disappoint you, my dear," he said, "but, sadly, daddy-dearest calls." And he was gone.
She collapsed on the bed, terrified, shaking. And angry. "No one treats a Queen like that, creep," she said, "no one!"
.
10. Synthetic Blood And DNA
Oliver ran down the industrial metal stairs into the basement under Verdant. Felicity was at her computers, her hands flying over a keyboard, while Diggle looked on. They were talking.
"Anything?" Oliver asked, stopping in front of her.
"A lot," she answered, excited.
"You won't believe what she found," Diggle said.
"After my encounter with Gideon Night and progeny, I'd believe anything. I'm all ears."
"Well, as you've probably already guessed," she began, "he owns a lot of businesses. All over the planet."
"Sure. When you're rich, what do you do with your money except invest to make more money? So, what else?"
"What else," Felicity continued, "is one of the corporations he owns. It's called The Hematological Group. Based in Romania. The official records says it does blood research and produces synthetic blood."
"But . . ." Oliver said.
"But that's just it. It doesn't. At least not that I can find anywhere. He has facilities all over the world that apparently market real blood. They've been investigated several times, but insist the blood they market is synthetic. Experts insist it isn't."
"Maybe they're just good."
"So good that the synthetic blood has DNA? And, sometimes, diseases?"
"Huh . . ."
"And everywhere they open a new facility, police records always show a sharp increase of missing people."
"Let me guess," Oliver mused, "they've just opened a facility in Starling City."
"Bingo!" Diggle said. "An old R&D facility outside town."
"Once owned by Maurice Castle," Felicity added.
"Who do they sell the blood to?"
"That's the really interesting part. It goes to their own chain of distribution centers. And records - records that were incredibly difficult to get - show that only about ten percent of their inventory goes to hospitals and medical institutions."
"Where does the rest go?"
"No idea," Felicity said. "No records of any kind. Zip!"
Diggle laughed. "My theory is they sell it to rich vampires." Felicity laughed, too.
But Oliver wasn't laughing. "You might be right," he mumbled.
Diggle and Felicity stopped laughing. "Just a joke, man," Diggle said.
"Just kidding," Oliver said with a half-smile. "But if you'd seen the Night family up-close and personal, without sunglasses or contact lenses, you might just wonder." He started changing into his Vigilante outfit. "In any event, I think a friendly visit to their blood factory is in order."
.
11. The Blood Factory
Oliver crouched in the darkness behind a beat-up dumpster across the street from The Hematological Group facility. A big, dark, windowless industrial building surrounded by a ten-foot masonry wall topped with coiled razor-wire and security cameras. There was only one recessed, gated entrance with guards, the same uniforms he'd seen at the Night residence. Visitors not welcome, he guessed.
He dashed across the dark street and climbed a power pole. From there, he shot a barbed arrow, dragging a fine line, over the parapet wall and pulled until it caught. With clouds covering the moon, he swung over, hitting the building wall with his feet, then climbing to the roof. There was a mechanical penthouse in the middle with a door. Not expecting intruders from the air, the door was unlocked. Once inside, he crept down the stairs and peeked out the first door he came to.
It looked like a prison. Long corridors lined with doors, industrial metal doors with tiny windows. At the corner was a security station, a room with corner-wrapping windows viewing both directions. But no guards or security cameras; no escapes anticipated. So he began exploring.
He peered in the window of the first door he came to. Inside was a large room with an aisle down the middle and bunk beds on each side. Men, dressed in gray shorts and tanktops, were milling around, some lying down, others sitting. There was a television on, but no one was watching it.
Oliver moved from door to door, floor to floor. Some of the rooms contained men, others women. But no Thea. Some appeared healthy, others pale and sickly. The only thing they had in common was youth. And tape on their arms, like they'd just taken a needle.
Except for the ground floor, the floors were all the same: young people in wards. The ground floor, however, was more like a factory. One room contained a shipping dock with a truck door. Another was a bottling plant; glass bottles being filled with a red liquid - blood, he assumed - sealed, labeled, sent down a meandering conveyor belt where the bottles were encased in shaped styrene packaging and boxed for shipment.
But there was no 'manufacturing' equipment. They weren't manufacturing synthetic blood as advertised. Instead, he found rows and rows of contoured chairs, like at a blood bank, with protesting 'donors' strapped down, blood being sucked into clear plastic tubes extending to a wall connection. In an adjacent room, he found the blood being processed: tested, purified, blended.
And tasted.
A team of three people - at least they looked like people - were methodically taste-testing the blood and commenting. Periodically, after discussion and agreement, they would change the blend by altering some numbers on a computer keyboard. Then they would move to the next batch. It was like they were blending an estate wine.
Oliver's gut feeling became a certainty. He knew what was going on. He knew who their clientele was. And he knew what Gideon Night was. But how did Thea and Verdant fit in? As he was trying to decide what to do, a guard turned the corner and saw him, instantly tapping his walky-talky. Sirens started howling.
Oliver turned and ran toward the stairway. He heard a gun fire and dropped to the floor. The plaster next to his head exploded. He rolled, lifted his bow and shot. The guard flew backward and landed on the floor, thrashing wildly. Oliver jumped up and ran, only to see guards coming in both directions. He dropped, spun in a circle, letting a volley of arrows go. Some hit; some didn't. But they were enough to scatter the guards, giving him a chance to disappear into the stair.
When he reached the roof, he tied the door shut with some electrical wire he found. He ran to the edge of the roof and saw guards below searching for him, some looking up, most running aimlessly. He tossed a gas grenade into their midst. It wasn't particularly effective outdoors, but it was enough to send them running. Giving him just enough time to shoot another barbed arrow at the top of the utility pole and swing over, barely missing the razor wire and landing on the street. By the time guards poured out of the gate, he had dissolved into the shadows.
He jumped on his Harley and was gone. When he found a secluded spot, he pulled out his cellphone and dialed. A voice answered and he rasped, "Detective Lance? Yeah. I know where you can find Starling City's missing people . . ."
.
12. An Unexpected Guest
Gideon Night was holding court. He reigned from an enormous, ornate, throne-like chair opposite the massive fireplace in his study. His sons stood in a half-circle in front of him. Talbot had just entered carrying a tray with a wine bottle and seven long-stem champagne glasses. He set the tray on the sideboard, bowed and left.
"Adrian," Gideon said, "why don't you do the honors."
"My pleasure," Adrian said. He popped the cork and filled one glass about two-thirds full. He picked it up, savored the aroma, admired the color and smiled, then presented it to Gideon.
Likewise, only with considerably more theatrical flair, Gideon admired the beverage. He tipped the glass and took a sip, then another. "Ah," he savored, "nothing short of a miracle. A most extraordinarily delicate blend of bloods with just the perfect touch of effervescence." He took another sip. "A celebration in the mouth. Our clientele will be dazzled . . . and most willing to pay handsomely."
Adrian filled the remaining glasses and passed them to the others. They toasted Gideon, then drank.
"Amazing!" Adrian said. "No one has anything like this. We're going to . . ." He was interrupted as Talbot returned, looking uncharacteristically agitated, and whispered in Gideon's ear, who looked momentarily surprised, then displeased. He stood solemnly and threw his glass into the fireplace. It smashed, splattering blood and shards of glass in all directions.
"Thank you, Talbot," he said. "Make the necessary preparations for a trip to our place in Romania, if you would." Talbot nodded and left.
The others looked concerned. "What happened?" Jared asked.
"Yes," Adrian added, "why are we leaving? So soon?"
"It would appear," Gideon growled, "that Starling City's resident curse - the Hood or the Vigilante or the whatever he calls himself - has discovered our activities, our brewery. And has tipped off the police."
"What!" came the reply from the others. "How?"
"I have no idea, but the police are at the gate with a search warrant. Our lawyers will delay them for a while, certainly until tomorrow. So we must be gone before then. Even after they get in, though, it will still take them weeks to track ownership to us."
"How do you suppose the curse found out?" Adrian whined.
Gideon shrugged dramatically. "How do rats always find their way into the best-kept house?" He snarled like a wild beast and began pacing, thinking, then spun and said, "In the meantime, boys, we have a little unfinished business to complete before our departure." He glared at Jared. "Bring her."
A few minutes later, Jared returned pulling a physically uncooperative Thea Queen by the arm. He stopped in front of Gideon, holding her. The others crowded closer, surrounding her.
"Who are you!" she demanded. "Why are you holding me?" She pushed Jared away, pulling her arm out of his grasp at the same time. He reached for her again but stopped when Gideon gave a subtle shake of his head. "And what's with those . . . eyes?"
"My, my," Gideon said, annoyed, "so inquisitive. So defiant." He strolled around her as if he was evaluating livestock. "So very pretty. I almost hate to . . ." But Thea was out of patience - and mad as hell. She lashed out with her hand before anyone could stop her, slapping Gideon across the face. Unlike Adrian, though, it didn't seem to faze him in the least. He just smiled, a controlled, angry smile. Then she smiled. Trickling down his face, the result of her fingernails, was blood.
But her smile quickly evaporated. "Black . . . blood!" she gasped, cold fear tingling inside.
"You shouldn't have done that, my dear," Gideon said, indignant, wiping the blood with his handkerchief. "I'm afraid you're going to have to replace it." Then he hissed like a sack of angry snakes about to strike while long, sharp fangs slid out of his mouth, fire in his eyes. He lunged at her, powerfully clutching her and plunging his drooling fangs into her neck like a wild beast about to tear her throat out.
She screamed and fainted. Gideon pushed her away. "Put her on the table," he ordered, "you can all have your share. There's plenty left." He laughed, a hideous exultant laugh, licking his lips, sending his sons into a savage frenzy, a fang-fest. "But don't be piggish! Leave some for . . ." Suddenly, the enormous leaded-glass window at the end of the room exploded, glass and intricate caning bursting in all directions. Amidst the wreckage, something dark flew through the air, hanging from an invisibly-thin wire, landed on the floor, rolled over and over to the far end of the room, and spun around into a defensive crouch, finally standing.
"The Starling City curse!" Adrian snarled.
"So it is," Gideon said, his surprise becoming malevolent delight. "So it is."
Oliver saw Thea on the table, her neck bleeding. Cold panic slammed him. "Thea," he whispered, then, louder, "What have you done to her?" Not waiting for an answer, he bolted across the room, stopping at Thea, and touched her neck. She was still warm, her heart beating. Alive. He struggled not to show his relief.
"Get the annoying bastard," Gideon said in his calm, imperious manner. One son immediately obeyed, growled and ran toward Oliver. But before he took two steps, an arrow struck him in the chest with a meaty thud. He stopped, smiling smugly, grabbed the arrow and pulled, but it broke off with a brittle snap. The smile melted from his face. An instant later, his entire body shriveled into what looked to Oliver like a dry, emaciated corpse, then exploded in a cloud of gray dust, falling to the floor, a dirty mound.
"You were lucky," Gideon sneered, "but you can't beat all of us." He turned to the others. "Get him! But don't kill him. I want that pleasure for myself."
Oliver lifted his bow and pointed. "Stay back!" he threatened, "or dear ol' dad goes first." To his surprise, everyone laughed, even Gideon.
"Your little toy arrows can't hurt me," Gideon ridiculed. "I'm too old and powerful for that, I'm afraid." Oliver released the arrow. But just as it reached Gideon, he moved to one side, almost too fast to see. And smiled.
The remaining five sons saw that as their cue and attacked Oliver like a pack of ravenous wolves, cautious, with slavering fangs and flaming eyes. He jumped up on the table, straddling Thea, protecting her. From the left, one son sprang toward him, lightning-fast, but not quite fast enough. An arrow caught him in the shoulder. A moment later, he was dust.
The others went insane; they attacked from all sides at once. Oliver managed to shoot one, but the other three grabbed him from the sides and behind. Too close for his bow. He felt eager fangs attack his leather cowl, without penetration. Adrian lunged at him, his eyes glowing with animal fury, then mysteriously stopped, gurgling, his eyes wide open with a look of horror. He lurched back, staggering, clutching an arrow in his neck - a small, black arrow about six inches long.
Everyone in the room froze, Oliver included, and turned in the direction the arrow had come, the broken window. Perched on the windowsill was a man, crouching. He was wearing faded black Levis, a moss-green hooded sweatshirt - an American Giant Hoodie, Oliver recognized - and pinhole glasses. In his right hand was a Cobra crossbow pistol; small but deadly.
Oliver used the unexpected diversion to stab the arrow he'd been unable to discharge from his bow into the midsection of the son in front of him. The hooded-man jumped to the floor and shot the remaining son. Then he joined Oliver, touching Thea to see if she was still alive. He nodded toward Oliver.
Oliver dropped to the floor, next to the hooded-man. They turned toward Gideon.
"Sorry about the kids," Oliver said without feeling.
"Oh, they weren't really my sons," Gideon said with a shrug. "They were just my conversions. I only called them sons in public. They're replaceable."
"Nice guy," the hooded-man said.
"Yeah," Oliver said. "And thanks, but I can handle it from here." He motioned toward Thea. "You need to get her to the hospital. Fast."
"Right, I'll meet you there." The hooded-man scooped Thea up in his arms, pulled her dangling head gently to his shoulder and ran to the window, jumped effortlessly to the sill and disappeared into the dark. Once Thea was out of danger, Oliver turned to Gideon.
"You've been most inconvenient, you know," Gideon said. He turned to the sideboard and filled another glass, then sipped. "Most excellent. Would you care for a glass?"
"I don't think so," Oliver said. "Watching my weight."
"Your loss. It's quite extraordinary."
"I assume that's the purpose of your factory; imprisoning young people and draining their blood."
"You've ruined everything," Gideon sighed, taking another sip. "It's the best - the only - gourmet, sparkling blood on the planet. It would have been a huge hit, a mammoth moneymaker."
"But why did you want to buy Mr. Queen's club?"
"You mean, your club, Mr. Queen," Gideon said, amused. "We vampires have greatly enhanced senses; I can smell who you are." He sniffed the air theatrically. "But, as to your question, the Verdant is an unrivaled magnet for healthy, young people. Street abductions were becoming too messy."
"Sorry to ruin your plans." Oliver raised his bow and aimed. "You have to go, forever."
Gideon smiled, contemptuous. "Like I said, I'm too old and powerful. And fast."
Oliver released the arrow, but just as it reached its target, as before, Gideon magically moved to one side.
"I'm going to cherish draining you, Mr. Queen," Gideon purred, triumphant, his forked snake-tongue flicking out and tasting the air."
Undeterred, Oliver released another arrow. And, as before, Gideon shifted sideways. But this time, he shifted sideways into another arrow. Gideon looked surprised, then amused, as the arrow slowly vaporized into harmless smoke.
"Like I said, Mr. Queen, I'm too . . ." But before he could finish, another arrow hit him between the eyes. Gideon looked momentarily stunned, dropping his glass. "I suppose I've lived too long. Until we meet again . . ." Like his sons - his conversions - he shriveled and exploded into a cloud of dust, in his case, though, iridescent, sparkling dust.
"Yeah, until," Oliver whispered as he jumped through the window and disappeared into the dark.
.
13. Picking Up The Pieces
The elevator doors opened and Oliver flew out, his feet barely touching the floor, heading toward the receptionist.
"My sister, Thea Queen," he demanded, "where is she? Is she going to be alright?"
Before she could answer, a voice from behind said, "She's okay." Oliver spun. It was Roy Harper. "The doctor said she's unconscious but out of danger. Needed a blood transfusion."
Oliver, visibly eased, took a deep breath and let it slowly out. Then he took Roy by the shoulder and led him to the shadowy corner near the windows.
"Thanks," Oliver said, "not just for me, mostly for Thea." He paused. "But why were you there? How did you know?"
"I was following you." Roy said.
"Following me! Why? How?"
"I don't know. I just had a gut feeling. Every time I was around you, I always had the feeling you were wearing a mask, you know, not the useless playboy you always pretended to be. So, I started following you. I had a hunch who you really were. Like I said, I could feel it in my gut. And I was right."
"You could've been hurt. Or killed."
"I know," Roy said, "but I owed you. You saved my life. I wanted - no, needed - to repay you."
"Well, you've more than settled the score, with Thea."
"And I suspected you were after Thea. I wanted her back, too." Roy got quieter. "And I really want to continue helping you."
"Why?"
Roy thought for a moment. He wished he'd prepared a speech, but he hadn't; he never thought he'd actually find his savior. He tried to explain, "I was mostly a useless bum before I met Thea. But she made me want to be someone. I could do good, help people. Help myself, maybe. Then you saved me, for no reason. Something snapped inside."
"Maybe you should become a cop."
"Not likely," Roy laughed, "with my record. Nothing big, mind you, but enough to get me the boot."
"Understand."
"I figure I have what it takes to help someone like you. I'm street-smart. Pretty good in a fight. Fit. Naturally suspicious, alert for danger. And good with . . ."
"A Cobra crossbow."
"Yeah." Roy said, shrugging. "Only thing I was ever good at in high school. Except, maybe, getting in trouble. But that's all behind me."
Oliver nodded, his mouth wrinkling into a wry smile. "You sound like me, pre-island. Sometimes it takes . . ." The elevator doors opened and Laurel stepped out. She spotted Oliver and hurried to him.
"Ollie, I heard what happened from my father," she said as she hugged him, excitement and worry in her voice. "Is she going to be alright? He said a stranger brought her to the emergency room, then disappeared." Oliver and Roy briefly locked eyes. "Do you know what happened?"
"No, maybe Thea knows," Oliver lied.
The receptionist came from behind them. "Mr. Queen," she said, "your sister's awake. You can see her now."
Oliver thanked her and took Laurel by the hand to see Thea, Roy close behind. As they entered the room, Thea saw them and smiled. Oliver leaned over and they hugged; Roy did the same.
"How do you feel?" Oliver asked.
"Tired," she answered, sounding tired. She touched the bandages on her neck. "I suppose I'm going to have scars." She looked puzzled. "Do you think they were really, you know, vampires?"
"Oh, I doubt it," Oliver said. "Probably just a bunch of blitzed-out dopers."
"I hope so. The last thing Starling City needs is vampires. We have enough problems." She looked from Oliver to Roy and back. Then her smile widened. "Well, if I have to wake up in a hospital, with bite marks in my neck, I couldn't ask for anything better than seeing my two favorite guys standing over me." Then she seemed puzzled. "But, Roy, how did you know I was here?"
"I, uh . . ."
Oliver glanced at Roy then back to Thea. "Actually, it was me. When they called, Roy and I were together."
"Why?" Thea asked, looking more puzzled.
"Well, uh, Roy starts work at the club on Monday and we were just going over a few odds and ends. You know, boring business stuff." He glanced at Roy again, whose jaw had momentarily dropped, then back to Thea."
"Really?" she gushed. "You hired Roy to work at the club?" She was smiling from ear to ear. "Doing what?"
"Well, with Tommy gone, I've been up to my eyelids. I honestly need help, you know, a partner. Besides, I figured if he's going to be dating my baby sister, I want him where I can keep an eye on him."
"Awesome!" Thea gulped.
"Or I can put him out front to attract the hot babes in."
"Don't you dare, Oliver Queen!" Thea cried, "he's mine!"
"Just kidding, sis."
"I certainly hope so," she said, unamused. "Maybe you can be a team, you know, like . . . like Batman and Robin."
Oliver locked eyes with Roy again, smiled, and said, "Or like Cheech and Chong."
Roy laughed. "Or like Rocky and Bullwinkle."
"You guys!" Thea sighed.
"Works for me," Laurel said, winking at Thea, "but which one's Rocky?"