A/N:- I still fail to own any of these characters, though I'd probably treat Laurel better than Guggenheim does.

It felt weird, hunting alone.

Ever since she'd first donned Sara's jacket and mask, Laurel had prowled the streets of Starling City looking for crime to prevent or punish, and sure a lot of the time she had been alone, but there was always the possibility that she may have run into Ollie, or even Roy. Now, Keystone City was open to her, and her alone, and she knew that no matter how much of a disadvantage she may find herself in, there would be nobody to pull her out of it. It gave her a thrill like no other, a thrill she could not put into words. A thrill she knew that no one but a fellow addict would ever truly understand.

She pulled back on the throttle, the Ducati Hypermotard beneath her roared louder, and accelerated. It was certainly the best way to travel quickly across a major metropolitan area, weaving in and out of the admittedly small amounts of traffic at this time of night. Wind whipped across the black-faced helmet fit snug over the blonde wig she wore to disguise her own brunette locks; inside that helmet a radio had been fitted that was tuned into the local KCPD dispatch frequencies.

She kept an ear out for anything that sparked her interest, but so far it had been nothing but a couple of domestic disturbances, and a street race. Nothing so far had what she needed; enough of a threat to warrant costumed interference, and nothing big enough for her to use to make an impact in the city. She needed that, if she were to make her own mark here. She chided herself for wishing for an Undertaking-level event, reminding herself sternly what that had taken from her.

She had crisscrossed most of Midtown's wide streets, zipping back and forth amongst the skyscrapers, when she finally heard what she wanted; a suspected drug dealer had shot the undercover officers who had attempted to arrest him, and was now fleeing in a red Mustang. And it, the report went on to say – and unless she had gotten completely turned around in this new city – had been last sighted not too far from her current location.

She gunned the throttle again, the engine roared once more, and she sped in that direction. Within minutes she was leaving Midtown, heading Downtown, and before her she could make out the flashing lights of a stream of police cars. They were all moving at top speed, but the Ducati ate up the ground between them in moments. Laurel wove the bike between speeding police cars, air whipping loud enough to hear each time she passed one.

Then she was out in front, with nothing on the road before her. No sign of the Mustang. Dispatch in her ear told her that the chopper high overhead had lost it as it went under the overpass of I-52. Probably gone off the main road, Laurel thought. That's what I'd do; get off the beaten path. More places to hide, more chances to escape.

The overpass neared with each passing second, and she slowed the bike. She halted completely when the heavy concrete bridge was directly above her, turning this way and that as she looked for clues as to where the dealer might have gone. Two story houses lined each side of the street, each one surrounded by varnished wood fences.

Seconds later, blaring sirens whipped passed her as the police sped by, not one of them even pausing to see if their quarry had attempted to allude them here. That didn't make sense, unless they had a report of a sighting of the Mustang further away. But Laurel would have heard that if they did. Besides, she had a… a feeling. There was no other way to describe it. Just a sensation that this was the place for her to be. Nyssa had talked of it before, called it a warrior's sense, but Laurel had not experienced it – not fully believed or understood it – until right now. Somehow, she knew in her gut that she was close.

Then she saw it; a gate in one of the fences just after the overpass. A gate wide enough to fit a car down, but close enough to the cover of the overpass to hide it from a pursuing helicopter. Laurel moved the bike to the fence, dismounting and pulling the helmet from her head. She could feel the oddly comforting sensation of the mask on her face, feel how it moulded to the contours of her features. And she could feel the weight of Cisco's device around her throat.

She unhooked the baton from where it hung at her hip, and began to walk towards the gate. She paused before it, glancing left and right. The street appeared deserted at the moment; no cars, no pedestrians, no nothing. A cool breeze drifted by her, bringing the taste of the ocean with it, and something else. A sense of the moment, as if something were about to happen. Then, steeling herself, she booted the gate open, and strode forward.

The man swung at her, but Laurel brought the baton up to deflect the baseball bat, cursing her overconfidence. He had been hiding on the other side of the fence, no doubt watching to see if his pursuers had found him, and watching as Laurel pulled up and just oh so casually sauntered over. If it hadn't been for hours of training – first at her dad's insistence, then with Ted, and finally with Nyssa – she'd probably be unconscious right now. And what a start to her Keystone career that would have been!

He swung again, a wide arching sweep that appeared almost to move in slow motion to Laurel. She deflected that again, the hard body of the baton connecting with the man's hand. He let out a curse, hand opening, the bat dropping from it to clatter on the loose gravel stone floor. She was about to strike again, this time fully offense, when she head the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked.

Without even looking around she whipped her hand back, the baton leaving her fingers. A second later there was the sound of impact, and another man grunted, then a deafening boom as the gun went off.

In the unnatural silence that followed, time seemed to slide to a halt. The man before her was so large that she barely came up to his chest, wearing a plain white A-shirt that showed off bulging muscles covered with tattoos, and a bald head also tattooed – Laurel instantly noticed the Swastika on the man's temples.

And she was aware of the man behind her, the one with the gun, no doubt bringing the pistol to bare on her again.

Time rushed as if to catch up with itself, and Laurel struck out, driving the sole of her boot into the big man's gut, using it to both strike him and push herself up and back, flipping over to land perfectly back on her feet, crouched down. She knew she had to keep moving, couldn't let the guy with the gun get a clear line of sight on her. He was the biggest threat right now, despite the tattooed man's size. She spun, and instantly dived to the right, rolling across the loose gravel, and into a crouch again. She had a good view of the shooter now; slender, wearing a dark red jacket, with a mop of brown hair atop a thin, rat like, face. He stood with the Mustang behind him. No doubt he was the dealer, and the big man his paid muscle.

Rat-face swivelled the gun to aim at Laurel, but she was already rolling, diagonally towards him, then she was up and sprinting. Closing the distance in seconds, she grabbed his wrist with one hand, pirouetted smoothly, jammed her shoulder under his armpit, and heaved. Rat-face flipped over, landing roughly on his ass and lower back, the air exploding from his lungs. Laurel kept hold of the wrist, twisting it, pressing her boot down on the man's chest as she hyperextended the arm. Race-face's grip on the gun loosened, and she slipped it from his grasp. Smoothly, she ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber, tossed all parts behind her, then drove her knee into Rat-face's head. She knew instantly that she had knocked the guy out.

But that just left the muscle. She looked over, saw him reaching for the baseball bat. He held it by the shaft in his left hand, opening and closing his right in an attempt to bring life back into bruised fingers.

"Don't need no masks 'round here," he said, glaring at Laurel.

"Don't need no bigots either," she responded, mimicking his speech patterns. "And I ain't leaving."

She flicked her eyes away from the man, searching for where her baton might lie, but couldn't see it. She'd have a harder time facing that bat without it. Of course, she had Cisco's device, but there was a time and a place for everything. Nyssa had also shown her that a little theatricality never hurt, and keeping some things a secret from your enemies couldn't hurt. And if she succeeded in making her mark on this city, there was no doubt that she would soon have enemies.

"You really need that to face a little girl?" she said, gesturing to the bat in the man's hands. He glanced down at it, then barked a laugh.

"I'm not stupid," was all he said, and quite pointedly didn't discard his weapon.

Oh well, Laurel thought, it was worth a try.

He crossed the distance between them quickly, frighteningly quickly, and swung the bat again. He was putting every ounce of his considerable power behind every attack, but was rough and untrained, his moves wide and telegraphed. She ducked, the bat swishing impotently through falling stands of her wig, then sprang back, flipping onto her hands, then over onto her feet again. She remained in a defensive posture, weary of the man. He might be rough and untrained, but it would only take one hit from that bat to put an end to her Keystone career before it had even begun.

The big man appeared just as weary as Laurel, thankfully; no doubt the swift way she had dispatched Rat-face worried him. But he was nothing if not pure muscle, with the overconfidence that brought with it, and a slow grin crept onto his face. His nose looked like it had been broken a couple of times in the past and never properly reset. This was a guy who had been in enough fights in his life.

He swung again, and Laurel darted right, then left as he attacked once more. Each time he attacked forced her back further and further, towards where the rear of the Mustang took up all of the narrow space between two houses. She was fast running out of time, unless…

He swung again, only this time she leaped for the rear of the car, turning in mid-flight to face it. Her legs bent beneath her, and she exploded upwards like a released spring, arching gracefully through the air over the surprised muscle. She landed in a crouch behind him, her legs almost giving way at the impact, but she managed to keep herself upright.

The big man turned, lumbering like an ox, and she met him with a spin kick, driving her heel into the side of his head. He staggered, winching visibly, but didn't go down. She struck out again, a backhand that staggered him once more.

Laurel growled in frustration. This guy just won't go down. She'd fought members of the League of Assassins, and this guy was giving her trouble? Maybe Keystone City wasn't the place for her after all!

The big guy threw a fist, and Laurel barely recovered from her thoughts enough to duck the wild thrust, spinning around and whipping a kick to the back of his legs. She put enough force into it to sweep the guy off his feet, and he landed roughly on his back. The bat clattered from his grip on impact, but Laurel was already on him, straddling his chest, driving a hard elbow right into his jaw, crushing his head against the ground. He groaned, struggling against her, and she slammed another elbow, and another, and another, against him. Finally, he stopped moving, blood trickling from a nose that had now been broken three times, his eyes closed and flickering.

Panting raggedly, Laurel pushed herself upright. She ached, her muscles burning from the fight, and she gulped down lungfuls of fresh air. She glanced around her, saw that Rat-face still lay where she had left him. Staggering slightly, she moved over to him, flipping him onto his belly and lashing his wrists behind his back with a pair of zip ties. Then she moved to the big guy – a bubble of blood was forming under one of his nostrils now – and did the same.

A moment's searched found her baton where it had skidded under the Mustang. She reattached it to her belt, then grabbed Rat-face by the arm. With a great deal of effort, she dragged him back towards the fence, out the gate, and onto the sidewalk, where she dumped him unceremoniously on the kerb. She did the same with the big guy, though he took considerably more effort, and by the time she was done, her back ached. She was looking forward to a bath when she got back to her apartment.

In the distance, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of approaching sirens; whether the pursuing police had decided to double back, or if these were others no doubt alerted by the earlier sound of gunshots, she did not know. She did know that she shouldn't stick around to find out. She…

Instantly, she spun, reaching for her baton. And relaxed, releasing the breath she had not even realised she held as soon as she realised someone was standing behind her, watching her. The woman before her was familiar; at least, the outfit she wore was. Black and red leather, a stark white mask with a single red dot at the forehead, framed by dark hair. A curved blade hung in a scabbard at her waist.

"Tatsu," said Laurel, by way of greeting. "You could have helped me carry the big one."

Though the mask was expressionless, Laurel had the distinct impression that Tatsu Yamashiro was not smiling. "Laurel," she said, her voice accented. "You must come with me."

"Is this an… an Ollie thing?" Laurel said, barely whispering the last as she glanced around her to ensure they were not overheard. She should have called him the Arrow, should have insisted on being called Black Canary when she wore the mask, but she was just too new at this, and if she was honest, the other woman's presence had thrown her off balance.

Tatsu shook her head. "No, I do not speak for Oliver Queen in this. But I do speak for someone who wishes to talk with you."

Laurel sighed. She got the sense that she would get no more from Tatsu if she pressed. Instead, she gestured to her bike with a nod of her head. "You need a ride?" she asked.

Laurel pulled the Ducati up before the building, killing the engine. Tatsu unwrapped her arms from around Laurel's waist, climbing off the back of the bike. The pair had earned a few confused glances by the spattering of drivers and pedestrians still out at this time; admittedly, most of those had been for Tatsu's mask and the sword she carried. Laurel had not had a spare helmet to offer the other woman.

Tatsu removed her mask, revealing big brown eyes that spoke of a loss that Laurel felt she could understand. "You will not need your mask," Tatsu said.

Laurel observed the other woman a moment, considering. Just because Tatsu knew who she was did not mean she was willing to flaunt her identity to the rest of Keystone City. Her attention turned to the building they stood before; nine or ten stories high, it was much like a plain grey box, dotted with windows, and a wide red band running along the top. From the sign that stood by the side of the hedges that surrounded the property, this was office space, home to several different businesses. That decided her, and she slipped the disguise from her face; it would look suspicious to see masked people wandering around a place of business. No doubt there were CCTV cameras and overnight security in a place like this.

That assumption proved to be correct; a guard sat behind the reception desk, feet up in front of him, eyes heavily lidded as he watched a monitor before him. Idly he scratched at the paunch that stretched the dull blue shirt of his uniform, and didn't even look up as Tatsu strode purposefully across the foyer, Laurel not far behind her.

The pair reached the bank of elevators that stood behind the reception area, waited for the first to arrive, then rode it up in silence. The elevator shuddered as it reached the top floor.

Laurel stepped out, glancing up and down the white carpeted corridor. There appeared to be four or five doors that led to individual offices, and Tatsu was already moving towards one at the far end. She paused by the thick wooden door, and Laurel noted that the nameplate was bare. The other woman's expression was as unreadable as it had been all night, but Laurel could not help the feeling that trepidation that fluttered in her breast.

"You are strong, Laurel," Tatsu said. "You need to remain strong now." Then she pushed open the door.

Inside opened up into a wide square office space, one short corridor running directly away from then, and another running to the left. That corridor to the left, the far wall was all glass, showing through into a smaller central room that – from the large table, multiple chairs, and wide bank of television screens she could just make out – appeared to be a meeting room. More doors lined the second corridor before them, though what lay beyond those doors she could not tell.

Movement in the meeting room caught Laurel's attention. Someone rose from a chair that had just been out of view, crossing into focus. She saw a female shape, with curls of blonde hair. That woman's back was to her, apparently focussed on a selection of coffees and biscuits that lay on trays on the middle of the table, but Laurel felt a lump forming in her throat. She tried to swallow. Her lips were dry, so suddenly dry, her skin cold. She could hear her heart beating, loud in her ears, thump thump thump.

Even as the woman turned, she knew whose face she would see. The words slipped from her lips in barely a whisper.

"Sara?"