Laurel's Apartment

"Ugh, do you really have to put this thing on the same place we eat?" Her sister removed her bo-staff-with its dark suspicious stains-off the dining table and leaned it against the wall.

"I don't like this," Laurel scowled at the TV screen, though she was perfectly aware that a re-run of Friends was not what she was pissed about. "Using my sick days to stay cooped up in my apartment."

That's the fifth time she's complained, Sara thought as she opened the fridge. "You can blame Oliver," she told her.

He had ousted her from the team and that gave her no possible advantage to stop them by herself. This would also delay Nyssa, as she would be expected to rally forces to attack Starling on Talia's behalf.

Furious, she had gone to her sister's apartment. Oliver wanted war with the League of Assassins, so be it. Taken hostage, Talia was out of the picture and wouldn't be after her anymore. She wasn't eager to get caught in the crossfire again. She was 'safe' for the time being.

But from her experience, safety was an illusion.

Laurel straightened on the sofa and threw her finger at the news broadcast on the screen. "Sara, look!"

This second, as they sat in Laurel's apartment, there were fires and explosions going off in the Glades.

She went to the kitchen window and tugged the curtain. Laurel lived in a safe neighborhood but it wasn't far from the Glades. She focused her eyes on the horizon in the slim opening between the next door buildings. She saw it; a faint orange glow guttering in the purpling sky and smoke snaking into the air.

"This is Vertigo striking at the Red Hood," Laurel stabbed insistently at the screen. She threaded a hand through her blonde hair, "Shit. The city's getting blown to bits. I should be out there, making sure Lex Luthor doesn't get his grubby hands on any more of it."

The next thing reported was the news correspondent attributing the bombings to a gang war, confirming Laurel's supposition.

"At this rate, Lex will have his pickings of the carnage," she said ironically.

Her sister pursed her lips in a straight line, "that's not funny," she said severely. Taking down Lex Luthor was a big deal for Laurel, the bigger they are, the harder they fall, she had insisted. She had always been an unassailable candidate for the every-man, much like Oliver was. Sara wished she could at least make herself sound more invested in it, but she could only care about protecting her family then.

She found what she was looking for, the beers she stored in the cooler, which Laurel had purposefully hid from her at the back of the fridge. Sara bought some on the way over. Laurel was strictly sober and had thrown out the last of her liquor ten months ago. But Sara couldn't resist.

"Have a drink with me, sis. One last hurrah before this all blows to shit?"

"You know I can't," she sighed, but she knew she didn't mind.

She held out two bottles so Laurel could see them. One thing they had in common; they hated people tiptoeing around their past addictions to certain vices like they were made of glass. They didn't need to be treated like babies. They were what they were; they dealt with it, and came out stronger for it.

"You're a bad influence you know that?" Said Laurel, but her annoyance had a note of affection on the edges.

"Fine. Orange juice for you then." Laurel rolled her eyes, but laughed under her breath. She poured her a glass and set it on the coffee table in front of her.

There was a knock on the door. Sara's spine tingled. Laurel followed her to the archway, remaining out of sight. She positioned her staff behind her back. With a company of killers on its way she had to be prepared to attack at any moment. Loyalties in the League were split. Talia captured, buried those rivalries, but it wouldn't take much for them to re-surface, and for her to be targeted again.

She breathed a sigh of relief to see Felicity standing in the hallway.

"Hey. Come in." She automatically moved and let the IT tech pass the threshold. Her entire demeanor was tight and anxious, but then that was the general feeling of everyone in the city that night.

"I gotta ask," she shut the door behind her. "Did Ollie send you?" She didn't like him using Felicity as a messenger.

"Nope. Frankly, I thought you would be gone by now, since Talia's not breathing down your neck anymore."

"I'm sticking around for Laurel and my dad," she glanced over her shoulder at her big sister who returned to the couch. "You should be happy that I'm here, sis. You're always complaining that we don't see enough of each other." Laurel stuck her tongue out at her and then sipped her orange juice.

To Felicity she said, "I already warned you of the consequences. Now we wait." She looked at Laurel, more gravely, "And since you won't get outta here, I'm not leaving you in this city with a bunch of assassins crawling in it, killing everyone 'til they get Talia back."

With that classic Lance stubbornness she pointed at herself adamantly, saying; "Well, I'm not gonna leave and stay with mom in Central City. Don't need any more awkward run-ins with Professor Steele, do I?" She joked wryly, and Sara had to make a gagging noise at the unbearable story Laurel told her of their mother giving lovey-dovey eyes at her new boyfriend.

"Killing everyone until they get her back?" Felicity murmured in alarm. "Ha ha, I guess it won't matter if I tell you there was a slight complication."

That fake laugh gave it away. "You don't have her do you?"

"Malcolm nabbed her before we could." Sara smacked her forehead, dammit Oliver!

"Annnd one of Talia's cronies made off with a case of the drugs," Felicity summed up, with a nervous snicker. "If it's any consolation Oliver is sorry for banishing you. He was too quick to judge."

"It doesn't matter. This doesn't change anything, not really."

Laurel shrugged her shoulders, "Heck, maybe this is a good thing; Malcolm will get rid of Talia for you."

Maybe there was a silver lining to this mess. "Could you decrypt this transponder? I think it could help me listen to League chatter, hear what they're planning," she rummaged in her gear bag for it and passed it to Felicity.

She nodded and put it in her handbag. "Actually, the reason I'm here is because we need help out there."

"Are you asking or is Oliver?"

"I am," her hands were in fists in front of her chest. "We can't do this without you. The Glades is a battlefield and the League is paying us a visit, we need all the allies we have," she pleaded. The team was struggling, and they needed her.

But Sara had no one else to blame for the struggle within her. She had slowly begun to recognize that she had always been running to and fro in desperate attempts to discover her true calling. She wanted to do right by the people she cared for, yet she couldn't become their ideal hero who did not go in for the killstrike.

"I can't—"

"You should go," Laurel cut her off. "I can protect myself, Sara," she drew closer, her blue-green eyes intense. As if she had read her thoughts, she said; "I know these past few months; you've been conflicted about being an assassin and being there for us. But forget that, break those rules tonight. Fight for what you believe in. You know you want too."

Another reason she loved Laurel. She knew exactly what to say to make Sara's overthinking and internal conflict sound profoundly simple.

"There's someone out there crying out for someone, anyone, to listen to them, to save them. They need the Canary, they still believe in her," she said fiercely.

Laurel held her arm, smiling warmly. "And so do we."

The Foundry

By nightfall, the police scanner had gone haywire. This soon after the Mercury Labs explosion there had been bombings at strategic locations of Vertigo's competitors, those that were under the Red Hood's territory. One had to wonder what the Red Hood's retaliation would be. Nonetheless, panic had spread, and the population of the Glades was under lockdown.

Starling City had turned into a warzone, overnight.

He recalled he had an appointment with Speedy. Movie night at the loft. He had made that promise thoughtlessly, without considering how insanely busy his evening was going to get. She would be pissed that he cancelled.

He emerged from his idle thoughts, "at least most civilians will be off the streets," Oliver strapped on an arm brace with darts as he changed to head out on patrol. With their loved ones secure, they could focus on reestablishing peace and control over the city, at least until the sun rose. Not everyone was bound to listen to the Commissioner. Foot soldiers of Vertigo and the Red Hood would use the opportunity to skirmish on empty roads. Diggle had gotten Waller to put ARGUS Red Alerts on the airport in case an assassin's alias popped up trying to enter Starling.

"You get anything from Talia's goon?"

"Sara said his name was Luka. And no, he ain't talking, keeps repeating the same goddamn phrase over and over again."

"'Death is all I know and all I will ever know?'"

"Yeah. That one," he rolled his eyes at the pretentiousness of it. "Amanda suggested I outsource you to do the heavy questioning. Seems you were good at putting the fear of God into men she didn't like."

He could roughly count the number of men he'd killed. But the number he'd tortured was probably in the hundreds by now. "It's true. I learnt a lot about myself and what I could do."

Digg exhaled slowly, "phew. Hong Kong huh? Sounds like the worst vacation ever." Diggle was sympathetic of course, but it never hurt to poke and jab at Oliver's broodiness.

Oliver knew what Digg was doing, and cracked a tiny smile. At least he still had a sense of humor—

With their heads occupied with preparation no one realized their space had been invaded.

Roy was the first to see them fly down from the rafters like bats. Oliver and Diggle simultaneously raised their weapons at the three assassins.

The one in the center spoke for his partners, his voice muffled by the cowl, but his message was abundantly clear:

"Give us Talia Al Ghul or the people of your city die."

Merlyn was right. The foundry wasn't secure anymore. Moving the entire lair to his second base would take more than a day. With the mayhem in the Glades, packing boxes and hiring moving vans had to be postponed until everyone could take a breath.

"We don't have her," Oliver barked, "Malcolm Merlyn does. It's him you deal with."

"Oh," wondered the one on the left aloud, who yielded twin throwing axes, "That changes everything doesn't it? I guess we have no use for you," they gave an offhand shrug. Oliver didn't like this 'light-hearted' banter; neither did the intruders lower their weapons.

"Malcolm doesn't care about the citizens of this city," agreed the right-most one, an archer.

"Yeah since he was willing to let five hundred of them get swallowed whole by the ground."

The center assassin remained silent and watched the other two. "I suppose we should find another incentive," they could not see his lower face, but the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned madly.

"Like his daughter maybe?"

Oliver's grip was milliseconds from loosening. But then the assassin in the middle caught his eye. And he noticed it.

The next thing he knew they drew their sword, and slashed the hamstring of the axe-man. Clutching a knife in their left hand they speared his neck. The other archer only realized they had been betrayed when his brother was lying dead on the floor. He lurched rearwards to the cupboards, but his arrow missed the mark.

"Wh-Why would you do this?!" This was no ruse; the treachery was as unanticipated to him as it was to them. His drawing hand was shaking badly, if he tried to shoot his ex-colleague, he would likely miss. Oliver and his team could only blink and stare empty and dim-witted, as if they'd missed a crucial punchline.

"Our home is corrupt," the swordsman summed in a growl.

"Then you've left me with no choice!"

They attacked each other, but it was plain the swordsman was the superior fighter. Dancing around the archer, his sword swiped and cut rapidly. He or she stabbed him in the shoulder, then head-butted him. The archer fished out an arrow from his quiver and tried to return the favor.

The swordsman leaned smoothly aside, unhurriedly, and snatched his opponent's wrist. He had a small frame, so when he swung the archer over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Oliver and Digg couldn't keep their mouths closed.

"Traitor…" the archer spat through blood-stained teeth. The victor pinned his chest with his foot, and said nothing as he ended his life. He grunted and pulled the sword out of the dead-man, a line of blood flickering from its edge.

Oliver did not lower his bow. He didn't know what to expect next, so when the last assassin standing said; "Finally, I've wanted to shut those two up the whole flight here." He wasn't too taken aback by the insensitive comment. The Leaguer wiped the sword on his trousers. "They never stop yammering."

Diggle and Oliver exchanged a glance. He was about to demand the identity of their potential ally when they stopped his words by lifting their mask.

Well I'll be damned. It's Little Miss Assassin.

She shook out her blonde hair and sheathed her sword. Those unmistakable grey eyes were hard and unforgiving as ever. It was what kept him and John from lowering their weapons. Sending Artemis could be one of Talia's tricks for all they knew. The city needed them and they could not afford to be struck down in the lair.

"Why did you kill them?"

She looked aggravated, "Stop pointing those at me."

"I don't think so." Roy drew back his bow until the string was taut. "You drop your sword on the ground and kick it over to us," he repeated her words that she had commanded Felicity to do when she restrained them during her last 'visit'.

She glared at him, and for a second it seemed like she would refuse. But slowly, slowly she re-drew it and threw it to the floor, then kicked it over.

"And the others," said Oliver, monotonously.

The glare deepened. Reluctantly, she reached both hands into opposite sleeves and pulled out racks of throwing knives. She knelt and unsheathed the ones strapped to her ankles and thigh; un-cuffed a host of darts and poisons and lock picks.

Lastly, she unbuckled her belt and tossed it into the pile that had accumulated before her.

"There." She showed them her empty hands.

He simply arched an unconvinced brow and titled his forehead knowingly. She rolled her eyes. A tedious three minutes were spent as she unclasped her armor and shoulder pads, where, as predicted, more weapons were hidden. She added them to the pile. She wore a light-weight waterproof tactical suit beneath.

Altogether that steel and Kevlar weighed more than half her weight, and she was small girl to begin with. It was a wonder she was even standing on her own two feet without her knees breaking.

"You're bloody welcome, you know?" She spat.

Finally he and Digg unarmed themselves, and the violent confrontation turned to hostile conversation. He glanced apprehensively at the dead assassins on the floor, and folded his arms over his chest, three fingers laid on a dart on his arm brace ready to sedate her if she came closer.

"I thought you were Talia's right hand, why would you protect my sister?"

"I didn't do this for you," sneered Artemis at him, folding her arms over herself, feeling naked without her arsenal on her, though she pretended it was out of irritation rather than vulnerability. "Congrats on capturing the demon's daughter by the way, didn't think anyone was capable of that. Except now, half the League wants you dead."

"What happened to Nyssa?"

Artemis unblinking gaze pierced through them. It was peculiar, watching an unmasked assassin, trying to picture the world through her eyes. During his five years, Oliver had once been told that when you're out there too long in the world, then it never leaves you.

Brutality and humanity become a chore to differentiate and then you settled for the most basic human instinct there is: kill.

He used to be like that, mistrustful, saw threats in kind faces. But for someone who'd grown beneath Ra's Al Ghul's shadow to become his solider, who'd had their baby toys replaced with switchblades, he reckoned she was far, far, worse off than he ever was.

But one has to hope.

"Talia's safety has become our top priority," she eyed their stock of artilleries, probably calculating the seconds it would take for her to reach the flechettes if they tried to attack her—which they weren't going too anyway. She scoffed, "Believe it or not, if Ra's or any of his children are in danger, we 'unite'. All secret plots are forgotten, for the time being."

"What can you tell us about their plan?"

"More will come, for your sister, for Talia." She frowned with distaste at her former colleagues and kicked one of their bodies, blood still fresh. "These two assholes were lying; they were going to go on a killing spree no matter what you said. And judging from what's happened in the past 24 hours I doubt your city can handle more death."

Roy stomped to Oliver; he glanced sidelong at him as he raised a finger in a warning.

"I know that look; I know what you're thinking. We can't trust her."

"Haven't I already proven—"

Roy rounded on her sharply, with a look that could have cut glass, "you didn't prove shit. All you did was change sides and kill two people. You're going to have to try a lot harder than that."

She glowered at Roy. These two will never be able to get along even if they were the last two souls on Earth. She lifted her head to look at Oliver, who she saw as the only person in the lair who with any sense left.

"I—" she started hesistantly, gulped, and said in a low voice, "I made a mistake. And people got hurt—"

"A friend of ours is comatose because of what you planned with Talia," he interrupted to her chagrin. "And that's not even touching the surface of the damage you've done to my city."

Since it was obvious apologizing wasn't going to seal the deal she settled for a different, more practical approach; "I am the only ally you have who can protect your home."

She sounded earnest, but not long ago she had passionately preached Talia's cause to them and almost killed half the people in the room she was standing in for it. No one pulled a one-eighty like this without good reason, and he doubted it was solely because he saved her life from Cyrus Gold.

"Since when do you care about Starling City?"

She frowned at him for a long moment, paused, and then shrugged her shoulders. "I don't. I just want to kill Talia Al Ghul. And I owe you a debt, Oliver Queen." That's enough of a reasonable explanation for me. "I grew up in the League, I know how this plays out, and if you push me away none of you will make it. So can we quit squabbling and get to work?"

Oliver and Digg exchanged a glance; he waited for his friend to nod in assent. When he did, they parted to give space for her. As she strolled towards the monitors, Roy avoided her like she carried the plague.

John looked at her, then at him and whispered; "I hope we don't regret this."

The Glades

There was an isolated skirmish near Starling Bridge between Vertigo foot soldiers and Red Hood outlaws; two dozen in each mini-army. They had bats, guns, makeshift weapons, basically gathered anything possible to hit each other with.

Red Hood's band of men were less skilled than Vertigo, he chose green boys and street youths to fight for him. She hated the sight of them, fighting in a war they didn't belong in, fighting for a cause they shouldn't have to be dragged into.

She listened to the League feed Felicity decrypted as she waited for both sides of the battle to converge on each other. Once the distance was closed, she released her sonic device and watched as it shattered their eardrums. The Canary soared down and collected her device after contacting Laurel to call the police. One of the thugs had recovered and tried to lunge for her leg but she cracked his skull with her staff.

The police sirens wailed, and she disappeared onto a balcony ledge. She saw her father amongst the uniforms.

"You'll love prison," he snarked to one of the disgruntled foot soldiers still clutching his ringing ears on the ground, "free food, free clothes and plenty of community service."

She rolled her eyes at her dad's penchant for sarcasm. He ordered the blues to cuff them. Then he glanced upwards in her direction, probably searching for signs of the Arrow's involvement. They caught each other's eye and she thought she saw the hint of a proud smile on her father's face.

Seaview, Starling City

She stared crossly at her phone screen. Oliver had cancelled the move night. She had been looking forward to it and he bailed on her. Typical.

Thea scrolled to Roy on her contacts list. She lied down on the sofa staring holes at his number, considering inviting him over. She took the TV remote and switched between channels. Thea stopped at the news, saw images of the bombs and the spoils of this never-ending gang war. Then it struck her; Roy would be too occupied with dealing with the disorder in the Glades and wouldn't have time to watch a movie with her.

Starling City's like his new girlfriend or something, she thought sullenly.

She breathed out through her cheeks and settled on a movie. It was one of those flicks that you left on when you folded laundry or did the dishes. Easy plot, no attention required. Exhausted from renovating the club, ten minutes in and she was asleep.

BOOM. BOOM. She yelped and got into sitting position. It was just a car chase scene in the action movie on the television.

Thea stretched her arms and turned off the TV.

She saw the black reflection on the screen before it was too late.

The Glades

Sara coughed as dust and soot clogged her throat. She was in a wreckage of a flat that had been collateral damage in an explosion in an building next to it. She could hear the painful cries of a woman stuck beneath a cabinet in her living room, or what was left of it.

"Hello?" She stepped over remnants of plaster, wood, avoiding the larger shards of glass strewn across the floor.

"I'm here!" The woman answered her call, and then groaned, the massive weight on her shifted as she tried to free herself. "Please help! I can't move!"

"Stay still, m'am." Solid oak, six by four feet; there was no way she could move the cabinet on her own. She would have to go outside and find help. She was reluctant to break the bad news to the hysterical woman.

"Hey Canary!" She lifted her head, heard a faint cough that came from a newcomer emerging through the grey smog. The outline of the person was familiar.

"Sin!"

Wordlessly, Sin grabbed onto the other side of the cabinet, bracing her shoulders. Sara moved similarly and they lifted it off the woman together. She slid out quickly before they released it, crashing back. Sin crouched to take her arm; she was limping from a sprained ankle.

The woman coughed. "My daughter…"

Sara said; "I got her outside, m'am. She's waiting for you." The woman started to sob. She blinked at Sara for a moment, then her eyes widened in recognition. "You're-you're the Canary," she sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"Yeah I am," she took the woman's other arm, Sin had the other draped over her shoulders, each of them balancing half of her weight.

"Y-you weren't around…" with her slurred speech and the way her head was lolling, she was probably concussed, "I…I thought you were gone."

"So did I," Sin chipped in, easing the woman over the wreck.

"I'm. I-I'm glad you're back…thank you," said the mother.

Sara looked ahead as they stumbled closer to the front door, "me too," she found herself saying.

...

Once the civilians in the flat were evacuated and the fire department arrived, communication feed on the League transponder blared. The dialogue was mostly centered on three missing assassins.

Before she could rush off, Sara ushered Sin to an alley and pulled her into a hug. She momentarily froze in shock by the display of affection. But she had not seen her in so long and the young girl would always have a special place in her heart.

"I have to go, but it was good to see you."

"I couldn't believe it was you," Sin let go of her. "Does this mean you're staying?" The pitch of her voice told her she was eager for the answer to be yes.

"I don't know yet." She felt…free. Did she dare have this positive-thinking? But damn it, she had forgotten how amazing it felt. "For the first time in a while I feel hopeful, y'know? Like I can do and be anything I want to be."

She couldn't explain it. The rush, the adrenaline, break the rules, Laurel had told her. Watching the woman they had saved have a tearful, joyous reunion with her daughter, knowing that she-the Canary-had answered her call for help. It shot Sara through the heart, and made her ache and feel liberated at the same time.

She couldn't tell you what she wanted to be, or just who she was anymore; Taer-Al-Asfar, the Canary, or Sara Lance. But it wasn't exactly the identity crises she was dreading.

Seaview

She ducked forward as knives were thrown over her head, and crawled beneath the coffee table, pounding feet chasing after her. She got to the fire poker in the nick of time to aim a stab at the assassin's throat.

That was when the second assassin crashed through her window.

Maintaining the form Merlyn taught her she parried over and under, left and right, circling to slash down at the newcomer who tried to grab her from behind.

But they were brutally quick; the first one had a weighted chain with a spear attached to it. He swung it like a lasso and then let it dart outwards to her. There was the fraction of a second when she thought she had evaded it. "Ah," she hissed and saw the welt of blood on the side of her waist. Pain is inevitable and suffering is optional Malcolm teachings reminded her.

In that lapse, their partner rammed into her and floored her. She could tell from her curves that she was a woman as she straddled her. The assassins conversed with each other harshly in a language she had often heard Malcolm use over the phone. The one with the lasso-spear produced a rope. She understood then: they weren't going to kill her, only kidnap her.

The one on top of her punched her in the cheek, white light burst in her head. She released the fire poker. Never release your sword! Malcolm admonished, his teeth grinding.

Thea crunched her abs and heaved her legs upwards to wrap around the girl's neck. She threw her off. Use your surroundings, Malcolm ordered.

Her eyes fell on the table lamp and she clubbed the woman with it before she could come any closer.

At the kitchen she grabbed two knives as the first assassin flipped over the counter. She threw the knife at him, took another, and leapt over the counter into the dining room area. She stumbled to the ground; half fell, lashed out at the charging assassin, knives scraping above her as she blocked the blows from the sword.

Blend with every attack, absorb your opponent. Thea twisted to stand, the sword cut down and she blocked it with her arm, she growled as it cut her. She dropped her weapon again. Leaping back but not far enough; the sword sliced her sweater. She felt blood trickle down her chest. Her arms were sore, her head was reeling.

The assassin stared at her, waiting for her to surrender.

Thea refused too, and crossed the knives to block; she turned down and hacked at the legs of the one behind her. The fire poker she dropped before was within reach, she hefted it again.

There was a merciful instant where the girl assassin's chest was free, a miscalculation which was her saving grace.

It's either you or the other man. Choose. Malcolm's voice told her. Choose. Hands raised above her head, she switched the poker to her left hand, and drove it with both hands into the assassin's heart.

She blinked in miscomprehension. She clasped the poker shaft to pull it out but Thea drove it further, handle-deep.

There was an outcry from her partner, "NO!"

Her dead-weight ripped the poker from Thea's hands as she fell.

Thea felt her lungs constricting, as it dawned on her like a dark cloud what she had done.

"No! No!" The partner cried in grief and dashed to his fallen comrade. She wished a black hole would open beneath her feet and swallow her. He yanked off her mask. Cold sweat washed over her and she couldn't suck in another breathe.

She had not been able to tell by the dense armor she wore, but that smooth, young, angelic face was proof enough. Somewhere in the city Malcolm Merlyn was proud, age is but a number Thea, you were equally matched, he said in her head.

Her limbs were frozen, she should be running; but instead she was stunned and tongue-tied. Before she could make the correct choice to run, he swung the weighted chain in a circle around his head and whipped it forward, entangling her leg, she fell flat on her stomach. The hook bit into her calf. He dragged her towards him, her nails clawed the floorboards in a vain attempt to gain any grip.

Her own breath was roaring in her ears like a storm, vaguely she wished Malcolm or Oliver was here. She rolled onto her back and grabbed onto a stool leg and used it to bludgeon him. Unwinding the chain off her, she sprang to her feet, running; ignoring the stinging pain, limping away as fast as she could as her attacker chased her.

The Foundry

The plan was simple. Artemis said the League intended to hold Thea hostage and exchange her for Talia. The bait would've have worked for both Oliver and Malcolm if they'd succeeded. Therefore she and Roy would retrieve Thea and take her out of the city. Diggle and Oliver would go after Merlyn.

How could it go wrong? A) Artemis could kill him, or all of them, B) This could be a ploy in Talia's elaborate scheme to dethrone her father, C) They could be riding into a trap, D) Thea could already be dead...

They were many, many ways this mission could fail. But separating Thea and Merlyn was paramount, just as separating Artemis and Talia was, in case this was still a con. Oliver had waited for an earful of Felicity's protestations when he told her they were working with Al-Sayad. He could hear her swallow down her objections like a pill. She used Sara's League transponder to locate Merlyn, which had spurred with feed about an unused Merlyn Global warehouse off a highway.

It wasn't like Malcolm to be so careless, but they had nothing else to go on, thus Oliver was prepared to acknowledge that this could be a trap, and that they might have to fight their way out of it, tooth and nail.

Roy strapped on his boots in front of him in the changing room. The grumpy look he wore was screaming for Oliver to ask him what was wrong.

"What's wrong?" His outcry was chock-full of bottled-up resentment. "You're just asking to get double-crossed aren't you? This is exactly what she wants!"

"She wants to kill Talia and I'm keeping her from her prize," he replied stoically, focusing his mind and finding a column of stability within his posture as he buckled his quiver. This was the battle that was two years coming; he needed to be mentally prepared. "Digg and I have a better chance at subduing Malcolm. Just like before." He didn't want to be too confident, however. There was still a pit in his stomach that was threatening to drain away his resolve. But he had to keep his legs moving, letting the adrenaline wash over him.

The red archer stood, his jaw ticking. "She'll to stab us in the back, Oliver, I know it. And you're leaving me alone with her."

"Then don't let her stab us in the back," he snapped.

"And what if she tries to kill me?" But even as Roy asked, he was more fearful of what he might have to do, rather than what she would do.

"Then you were protecting yourself and my sister. You can do this, Roy." He told him, feeling no emotion or sensitivity, only this cold, numbness as if he'd taken a dip in a frozen lake. Killer instinct. Oliver's mind coughed up. Are you going to kill Malcolm this time?

They would cross that bridge when they got there.

"One more thing. There's going to be a lot of us out there. You need a codename."

"Arsenal." He did not hesitate to reply. Oliver cracked a crooked smile, "I like it."

It was evident that Artemis had heard their entire conversation from how that irremovable glare heated upon seeing Roy.

"We use codenames when we're on the field," Oliver said. "Al-Sayad is it?"

"Artemis."

"But that's your real name."

"I can't use Al-Sayad anymore. Not after tonight." Before he could remark on yet another one-eighty decision, she pulled her cowl over her mouth and spun to the exit.

They got onto their bikes, (Artemis and Roy were forced to share Roy's- Which ensued in an argument that wasted two minutes over who was to ride pillion. The debate was only resolved when Oliver yelled at them to flip a coin.) Artemis -who won the coin toss to Roy's seething annoyance- cleared her throat to get his attention.

He could only see her dark grey eyes, like two chips of marble. "Do whatever you want to Merlyn. But Talia's mine. Clear?"

He nodded and revved his motorbike, "Clear."

The plan was simple. How could it go wrong?

Seaview

Thea ran along the wall and propelled herself, kicking his face. Twisting his wrist behind him she had him disabled, and then he tossed his hook backward. As she moved to dodge it, he freed himself and threw her over his shoulder. Her back slammed onto the floor, knocking the air out of her lungs. Thea rolled as the hook stabbed the ground next to her head. She was weaponless. Use your surroundings! Malcom hissed at her again.

She got up and latched on the first thing she found, a thin glass vase. She broke it, rudimentary, Malcolm would comment, but doable. Thea whipped her head around to the approaching assassin, snarling through her teeth. "Come at me, you son of a bitch!"

…

From the living room Malcolm heard a battle cry, clashing wood, the grunts of struggle...

Then there was that sound that was unambiguously a body falling, followed by the sound of something sharp digging into flesh, once, twice, and again.

Afterwards, an eerie silence consumed the entire loft.

When he ran to the living room, it was dark; the only light came from the moon through the broken windows. He could see three figures on the ground. One near the kitchen; two others by the window just beside a square of light, he saw their black profiles.

A shadow loomed and stood as if it were the dead lulled to life. He couldn't tell whether it was his daughter or the assailant, but he was ready to attack with an arrow.

There was the drip, drip of blood. Something fell onto the ground, a broken piece of glass, dark smears on the jagged edges.

Malcolm stared and Thea stared back at him.

Not to startle her, he dropped the bow and removed his mask. He slowly approached her. She was breathing through her nostrils like a spooked horse.

His eyes adjusted to lack of light, he saw the bloody mess of the assassin's throat, blood still oozing out of the gaping hole where his neck should have been. One clean stab would have done the job, but she kept ripping it out. The mask removed revealed a clean-shaven, young face, ash colored hair now speckled with blood, blank hazel eyes.

There was a scream inside her that refused to dislodge from her throat. Her feet stumbled over each other and she sat in the bed of broken glass. He reached for her.

"It's okay Thea. It's over." But in her shock she wasn't listening.

"Is. Is he—?" She murmured in shrill sobs.

"He's dead," his voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. Just look at him: he's dead as dead can be. But it was plain she could not grasp that concept yet. I taught her well. He can see those two words have her close to breaking in half. But he wouldn't have that of his daughter. He was going to make sure she learnt to accept what she had done, and live with it. She was so, so close to being the prodigy child he had always hoped Tommy would be. He just had to guide her a few steps further.

"I..." Thea stared at her trembling hands, still wet; the white moonlight spotlighted them so they were a stark bright red.

The only thing she was able to comprehend then was instructions and he had plenty for her to follow. "Go upstairs, get cleaned up, and take these," she took the handful of knives he gave. "I'll deal with this." She stood and had to balance herself against the wall.

"Operation 67. Go to the meeting point. Wait for me there, understood?" Thea nodded mutely. She was bleeding from several scars, but he bet that there were plenty of wounds he couldn't see.

...

She shushed him. "Stay behind me," she almost hit him in the nose with her palm.

Roy shouldered past her defiantly, "Don't tell me what to do." He perched on the ledge and shot a cable to the loft's window across the street.

He could feel her glaring holes into his back. "Do you always complain when people try to help you?" She said in a shouted whisper, shuffling to get her own cable line prepared.

"Oh yeah," he drawled out sarcastically, "it's not like you didn't try to kill us all at one point."

"Oh get over yourself, Red."

"My name's not Red, it's Roy," he snapped, and immediately regretted even bothering to correct her. It's not like she cares.

Her next words attested to that, as she said them in an overly-soft version of her voice; "Nice to meet you, Roy, I'm Artemis. Now shut up," she hissed.

"Both of you shut up!" Felicity ordered, before he could form a decent comeback. "You bicker like school kids on a playground!" That was an accurate description. They had treated each other like petulant kindergartners the entire journey.

They propelled themselves through the broken window of the loft. Not a good start, he noted worriedly. His boots crunched on glass. Artemis landed next to him and they both had their bows nocked. No one came charging at them, slightly more hopeful sign. They looked at each other and she signaled she would check upstairs.

He inspected blood stains on the floor, he swallowed the troubling possibilities that came to him. "Arsenal, is she there? Is she okay?" Felicity muttered.

"Artemis?" Roy glanced at the railing to confirm and she shook her head. "She's not here."

He was distracted by a the claw marks on the floorboards and a bloody poker by the kitchen. There was blood everywhere.

Felicity said; "I'm hacking into street cams, you should start a perimeter search."

He crouched to touch the bloody discarded poker, "Good idea."

He was about to tell his 'partner' just that when he looked at the balcony and saw that she was missing.

The Glades

He rode past the helpless families with their shattered homes, ruined in the waves of the detonated explosives Vertigo had set. They huddled on the sidewalk in pairs or in small groups like hurricane survivors: waiting for the police, waiting to hear from loved ones… waiting for the Arrow.

But he could not save them. Not tonight.

"Sara's helping," Felicity told him as if she could see what he saw. "We're in good hands Oliver. Just focus."

Lightening cracked across the sky, followed by a heavy downpour of rain. Rain was good, welcome. The city was thirsty for it. It quenched several fires he rode by.

Thunder followed the lightening as they arrived at their destination. Rain provided them cover as well. Digg and Oliver slipped into the limp dead brush that surrounded the warehouse, situated on top of a steep hillock.

Another flash of lightning lit the unfinished highway like a giant mangled arm. They drew nearer; bow ready and gun clocked. They dared not take the front. John took the back entrance, while he grappled to the roof two stories tall. The rain streamed down the roof in rivulets, making it slippery, he found his grip and clambered to a sun window.

He asked Felicity for thermals but the weather interrupted the signal. He tried to pull the window open, but it was stubborn—

There was a low thud. He swiveled his head around and slid from the knee that rushed him. His shoes lost their grip; he dug his spurs into the roof but the water provided no friction and he was falling head-first into the grass.

Mid-air he spun and eased his fall with another hook, it slowed his momentum before he could take a tumble down the sharp slope.

As he landed in the dirt, a crack of lightening let him see his opponent. Female, long dark hair…

This was incontestably, the one and only Talia Al Ghul.

"Miss me already?" She purred, cracking her knuckles. As Digg tried to sneak up on her, she spun and pointed her weapon-a pipe she was using as a staff-at Diggle who had his loaded gun aimed.

The rain plastered her hair to her face, but she didn't seem to mind. "Where's Malcolm?" He yelled. The only possibility that made sense was that Merlyn had let her go…which meant Talia Al Ghul and Malcolm Merlyn were working together. In his list of how things could go wrong, he had not predicted this; it was truly the worst of the worst possible outcomes.

The darkness made her look like a spectre come to haunt him. She shrugged, training her gaze on both of them, ready to spring if either of them shot. "No clue. He had to bolt. Something about his daughter being kidnapped," he could hear the grin in her voice.

"You're not going to get away with this."

"This is not our war Oliver, and we don't have to be enemies, turn around and save yourself the shame. You're city's in danger, you're going to have much bigger problems on your hands."

If he wasn't going to get Merlyn, he would settle for Talia.

John had the same idea and shot, she flipped backwards. Digg charged at her, she used the extended length of her staff to swat his right hand; the bullet went into the sky, its sound drowned out by the thunder. His arrows flew at her but she jumped over them with an agility he had never seen before. She hopped onto Digg's back, threatening to take them both to the ground, but John leaned forward and heaved her off him. She spun and kicked his gun out of his hand.

It flew into the air, both of them reaching for it...but it landed in Talia's hand and she shot Diggle in the chest.

Thank god his friend had the sense to wear a Kevlar vest.

Unfortunately the hit would render him unconscious for a few minutes. She came at Oliver next with the pipe. Her feet sending up splashes of black water as she charged. Oliver stayed still as stone, waiting. The ground was dark, the mud slippery underfoot. Better to let her come to me. Maybe she'll slip and fall.

She didn't. He loosed an arrow to meet her rush. Iron crashed against carbon-fibre. He twisted aside, shooting at her chest as he retreated.

"I never liked archers," she followed. "You son of a bitch," she growled. "You thought you could outsmart me?" As he saw the pipe swinging for his right, he missed it when her fist slammed into his ribs. "Your city is going to die and you don't even know it!"

The staff whirled in rapid arches, Oliver had only his bowstave to catch the hammering blows. All he could do was slide back away from her, darting this way and that as the staff flew at him. One hit whipped his spine and he nearly doubled over. He had seen Sara use one to be lethal, but this was the demon's daughter; she would find way to kill him with it.

Once the mud gave way under his heel and he almost fell, but somehow he recovered himself, though she managed to disarm him by flicking his wrist at a painful angle. "I'm going to kill you and then your friend, and I'm going to enjoy it," and the glint in her eye told him she would uphold that promise. She held it vertical and plunged down. He swerved to the right and it was stuck in the mud. He threw a flechette and it cut her cheek leaving a dark line of blood.

"You cut me." She seemed genuinely appalled that he had managed the feat, and then it just as quickly morphed into a manic smile that made his already adrenaline pumped heart patter uneasily.

He watched, waiting, moving sideways, backwards, but she came straight at him, bellowing curses. The staff spun like a propeller over her head and struck him across the chest, he fell into the dirt, wheezing, rain catching in his eyes. Her knee pinned him down and she crushed the iron on his windpipe, choking him. He grabbed onto the pipe and tried to push it off as his vision started to blur—

—Diggle crashed into her, in a roaring rage. She lost the staff. Oliver rolled onto his stomach gulping in air greedily. Talia tangled with Diggle and she was shrieking and clawing at his face, whilst pointing his gun away from her own.

They wrestled for control, the pistol rattled against their combined struggle to aim at the other. At first his best friend was winning, then Talia, then John, then Talia. It was a careful, delicate dance of strength, fingers brushing over the hairline trigger.

"Digg..." he rasped.

The gun fired.

The shot echoed in the storm and in his skull, there was no thunder to carry away the noise. Panic gripped his chest like steel bands; his heart hammering unevenly at the overwhelming dread and fear.

Get up, Oliver. GET UP.

He flattened his palm over his ribcage trying to hold everything in. It felt like an infinite proportion of time before he was able to stagger on knees and feet to Talia. Thunder clapped. Through the torrent he couldn't tell if Diggle was alive or not.

Using the next clap of thunder he caught her off guard and stabbed her collarbone with an arrow. She grabbed his arm as he did and the next thing they knew they were tumbling down the treacherous slope.

He couldn't tell you what might have dragged over his skin as they rolled like a boulder at full-speed, but he felt the pain everywhere.

They landed in a puddle with a splash that sent water up his nose and into his eyes. All the air was driven out of him, and his head snapped down against some half-buried stone with a crack. One of his hands was in her hair, pulling her head back. She was groping for his throat, the broken shaft of the arrow still in her. His gloved hand slapped the ground for a rock. He found a hefty one, and smashed the side of her head with it. She was still awake but rolling next to him, groaning, holding her bleeding forehead.

Oliver crawled away, trying to stand and scramble up the slope to find Digg. He was half-way up when he heard the squelch of the wet ground at the bottom. Two more assassins joined the scene, there to serve the demon's daughter. One of them helped her to her feet. He looked despairingly at Diggle lying unconscious on the ground. There's too many of them.

Another lance of lightening emblazoned the sky. But when he looked back, they were gone.

A/N: long ass chapter but we have a lot to get through. Aren't you glad Artemis came to her senses? It's not over! Final part of this arc will be next! See ya.