Oliver stares.
"It's you," he says, "But it's not you."
He narrows his eyes, peering through the darkness at a man he'd once called friend. The man standing in Verdant has Slade's voice. He has Slade's build and mannerisms, but the face is different. It's as if someone made a bad wax work of the former ASIS agent.
"Don't you recognise your handiwork?"
"My handiwork?"
The man's mouth twists. Oliver watches as the skin seems to stretch, pulled unnaturally down by the expression. It's as if his skin is superimposed over his face, rather than being part of it. It seems to have smoothed over the normal nooks and crannies that give a face character, making him look unnatural and far too bland to be human. It's like looking at a department store mannequin.
"What the hell?" Oliver hears Diggle say behind him.
"Don't you like it?" The man says, gesturing at his face with the sword.
"Artificial skin," Oliver realises. "Why do you have artificial skin?"
"Not much of a choice In the matter," says Slade, and Oliver can see it is Slade now. Slade wearing a shabby approximation of his own face. "You left me with burns over 60% of my face. 40% of my upper body. Lost most of the vision in my right eye too."
"I thought you died," Oliver says.
"There was more than one day," Slade says, "when I wished I had."
"Shado died," Oliver says, feeling the old twinge of pain and regret just like be always does when he thinks of her. He wonders if one day this great loss he feels about Felicity will be just another twinge. If he'll ever be able to look back and have her death not break his heart. He can't see how that's possible. "I thought that missile took out both of you in the jeep - there were two bodies - badly burned..."
"So you guessed?" Slade sneers. "After all we did for you, you let an assumption stand as proof of our deaths?"
"I knew it was her," Oliver says, "But your body - or what I assumed was your body - was nothing but a husk. Burned beyond recognition. It was the right size. The clothes looked like yours."
"One of Fyers' former men," Slade says, "he tried to ambush Shado and take the plane. I'm sure you recall how well that used to go. She took him hostage, thought he might have some intel on Fyers' mysterious benefactor."
"Did he?"
"Never did get to find out," Slade sneers, "because you didn't live up to your end of the bargain and a bloody missile came down on the road and blew up the jeep."
"It's not that simple," Oliver says, "there was more resistance around the launcher than we expected: they fired one before I was able to replace the chip. I wasn't fast enough. Shado's death and your injuries were my fault, and I'll carry the blame for that my whole life, but they were never my intention."
"You never came back," Slade says, "you left me there to die. In agony. Do you have any idea how painful burns are?"
"I searched for you," Oliver replies, "I searched for both of you, and I found the jeep with the bodies. After that, what was there left to search for? I was sure you were dead."
"You were wrong."
"Yes I was. I see that now," Oliver admits, "but Slade, it's been years. I spent two more years on that Island waiting for a way off. If you were there too why didn't you find me?"
"I wasn't on the island."
"You got away?"
"Seems Fyers' partners had the same issue with identifying bodies as you do. They evac-ed me. They offered me medical care. I wasn't in the frame of mind to refuse their terms."
"You got away," Oliver says, "Shado died and I spent two more years in that hell - by myself. What is it you think I owe you? Why are you here? Why take Felicity? Why kill her?"
"Orders man," Slade says, "but I have to say, these ones I've got no problem with. You left me for dead, I left you to die. You killed Shado, I took your little blonde chit. She's feisty. Nearly bit a finger off of my partner there."
"Was." Oliver says, setting his jaw. "You killed her."
"Nah," Slade laughs, "all that blame is on you. Bringing a civilian into this life. At least with you I had no choice. Slim pickings on that island of ours. But you signed her death warrant, not me."
Oliver steps forward involuntarily, his hands moving down to a guard. Ironically the first guard Slade ever taught him.
"Now now," Slade laughs, levelling the gun at Oliver's head, "don't be hasty Queen."
"Oliver," Diggle warns, but his voice sounds thin.
"Hey now," Slade looks past Oliver to Diggle, "You might want to take a seat mate. You're looking a bit out of sorts."
Oliver looks over his shoulder to see Diggle wavering; standing unsupported under Slade's watch has obviously taken a lot out of him.
"If he sits," Oliver says, looking between his former partner and his current one, "will you shoot him?"
"Depends on how he sits."
"How about slowly," Diggle says, his injuries not getting in the way of his attitude. He leans back against the bar, using it to support his slow descent to the floor. Once he's off his feet he leans his head back and breathes deeply, obviously in pain.
Slade looks from Oliver to Diggle and back again.
"Can't say I'm too impressed with my replacement."
"Shut up," Oliver snaps.
"At least your little blonde girl's something to look at. This guy," Slade sniffs, "weak."
"Weak my ass," Diggle says, but he doesn't move. "Come over here and say that to me."
"You do have a think for the feisty ones," Slade says, "don't ya?"
"You and me are gonna have words," Diggle manages. "Soon as I get up the energy to come over there."
"I'll be waiting," Slade promises. "I look forward to it."
Oliver looks at Diggle, injured because of him, and thinks of Felicity, dead because of him.
"You sound proud," Oliver says, "proud that you killed her."
"Once a fool, always a fool," Slade sneers, "Killing blondie was never the aim. I just wanted to see if you'd check the wreckage any better when it's someone you claim to love. You really do never learn, do you?"
Oliver stares at him blankly. Hope flares in his chest, but he's had hope dashed too many times to believe in it. No matter how much he wants to.
"What do you mean?" He says, keeping his tone level.
"She's not dead. She's far too useful to be dead. Unlike that one there." Slade shakes his head, sneeringly dismissive of Diggle.
"She's not…?" Oliver head swims. He doesn't want to care how, but how? Can it be true?
"She's not dead. But she will be." Slade licks his lips. On the face he has now it's grotesque. "My employers - or rather, I should say, my former employers - planned to do almost exactly what they did; take her to hurt you, kill her to hurt you. I, however, have a more creative approach. I took her to hurt you, I saved her to hurt you, and now you'll do whatever I want or I'll kill her or maybe even give her back to them, all to hurt you."
"Felicity's alive?" Diggle groans.
"For now." Slade says, sounding remarkably proud of himself.
Felicity's alive. Felicity is alive.
Oliver feels emotions well up inside him like boiling water. He clamps down on them, hard. They're not out of the woods yet - she might be alive but she's not here, not safe.
"Why?" He asks and is proud of the fact that he keeps his voice steady.
"It's all about hurting you Queen," Slade says. "I played the odds - right now anything you do is a win for me. One one level or another."
Oliver closes his eyes. He thinks of blonde hair and a warm smile. Thinks of moments not had and words not said.
Thinks of how she would never have been in this position to begin with if it wasn't for him.
"Where is she?"
"Somewhere safe," Slade says, "but I'm the only one who knows, and without me, she's got the length of time it takes a human to die of thirst. So keep that in mind when you think about coming for me. I die, she dies."
"You bastard," Diggle groans.
Oliver looks at Slade, and sees only the grinning monster he is now, not the man he once was.
"What he said," Oliver says, jerking a hand at Diggle.
"Say what you like," Slade laughs, "but for now, I own you."
"I want to see her."
"Uh-uh," Slade says, waving his sword for emphasis. "That's not how this works."
"You have to give me something, Slade," Oliver tries, holding out his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "I need to know she's okay."
"Ha!" Slade laughs, "I don't have to do shit. You don't believe me and do exactly what I say, she dies. You kill me, she dies. You get me what I want, I'm happy, she lives. All three are wins are for me but only one is for you. So I don't care if you believe me, rich boy, that's all on your head."
Oliver considers, looking over his shoulder to Diggle. The former solider sits collapsed against the bar, but his eyes are clear and Oliver can read agreement there.
"Okay," he says, turning back to Slade, "what do you want me to do?"