"Tommy?"

His name was uttered from his lips. Though blurred from tears, he looked into the eyes of his best friend. The same eyes that he had begged to stay open just three years ago— and they hadn't. He can still hear his own cries of agony as he realized that Tommy had taken his final breath. The picture of his impaled chest was far too vivid, yet forever engraved in his memories.

Tommy was dead. He was sure of it.

And despite the tangible evidence in front of Oliver that somehow the gift of life had been given to him, he couldn't grapple with the fact that he was actually standing in front of him.

He had spent so many years, longing for just one more moment with Tommy. He thought about the things that he would say. The apologies that would be told from the depths of his soul. There was so much that he wanted to rectify that he never was given the chance to.

But here Tommy stood, draped in the clothes of the man who had established himself as the adversary. And as he looked into his eyes for the first time in over three years, he saw nothing but hate and vengeance. There was a darkness in them that he almost felt connected to. Maybe because it was once what he saw in the mirror every morning. And now, it was reflected in the eyes of one of the first people who faced the fatal effects of these inhumane driving factors of his. The now living eyes. And suddenly, he felt that guilt once again weigh him down.

"How are you alive?" Oliver asks, his voice breaking in a way that barely puts it above a whisper.

"I already told you," he begins, throwing his mask on the ground beside him. "The Lazarus Pit."

"Your father was disgraced by the League," Oliver begins, an anger beginning to show up in his tone. "There's no way that they agreed to bring you back."

He shakes his head, laughing dryly with a haughtiness that strengthens the building tension in the room. "I never said that the League brought me back."

"Then tell me who did!" Oliver screams, immediately scaling back as he sees the satisfaction in Tommy's eyes. He sighs as he adds, "I'm just trying to understand."

"My father had a group of loyal followers. They brought me back not long after I was put in the ground," he explains. "Did you ever wonder how hecame back in the first place?"

It was funny. Barry had questioned Malcom Merlyn's involvement just days ago— and Oliver rejected the idea, as he thought that everything that Prometheus had done was below even Malcom. But as he looked into the eyes of his now breathing son, he knew that was likely a product of his actions.

And as reality set in, only one question formed in his mind, as he thought back on all of the pain that had built in his heart through the days he thought he would never see his best friend again. "Where have you been?"

"I've been in Corto Maltese," Tommy tells him plainly. More dots were being connected, as Oliver knew that Malcom had contacts there. That's where he had taken Thea and trained her not long after their mother died. Things were becoming less of a surprise. He continues, "I've spent the last three years training and preparing for this moment. I just never expected it to be so easy to get you in chains."

There was a glimmer of relief that had resided in Oliver's heart upon seeing Tommy again. There also was a hope that maybe he could reach him. But the longer that he looked into his eyes, he realizes that there's nothing that can remedy the hate that rested within him. Therefore, all he could think about now was the suit that Tommy was dressed in. He was Prometheus— and that brought about a rightful disdain in Oliver's demeanor as he finally began to show a little fight.

"What the hell happened to you, Tommy?" Despite the anger, there was also anguish that came in the crack of his voice. He felt a tear roll down his cheek as he asks lowly, "you were always better than me. Better than your father. How could you become this?"

"What is thisexactly, Oliver?" Tommy asks with a raised eyebrow, closing the distance between the both of them as his face was a mere foot away from his.

Oliver scoffs before answering. He narrows his eyes while shaking his head as he replies, "a fucking murderer."

"I knowthat you aren't trying to hold yourself above me for killing people. . ."

"You killed innocent people!" Oliver screams. "You killed good people and hurt so many more."

Tommy shrugs it off nonchalantly. "All collateral damage for the point that I was trying to make."

"You put Thea in the hospital!"Oliver cries, a vengeful fury sending a burning sensation throughout his chest. "Someone that we both love— and you only saw her as collateral damage?"

"Do you think that I enjoyed doing that?" Tommy asks in disbelief. "It's something that I'm going to have to live with for the rest of my life. But she's okay, right? I didn't kill her."

Oliver couldn't believe that Tommy had become so jaded by his own rhetoric that he was speaking such inhumane nonsense. It had been a while since they had spoken and he understood that people changed. But Tommy hadn't just changed. He hardly even seemed to have any humanity left in him. And that made Oliver even more resentful towards everything that he had done in the months of his return.

"You're sick," Oliver tells him dumbfounded. He couldn't tell if he was speaking figuratively or literally— but it was likely that it was both.

"Perhaps I am. But what ever 'sickness' this is. . ." He trails off as he rears his fist backwards and forces it against Oliver's cheek, forcing his body to fold as he tries to cope with the pain of the impact. He follows his head as he continues, "it's enlightened me on so many things. I look forward to sharing them with you in however much time we have together down here."

"My friends are going to find me. . ." Oliver says strongly as he forces his body upwards while Tommy walks away. "You won't have long."

He nods as he chuckles, turning around for a quick moment to tell him, "we'll see about that."

Never would Oliver have believed that Tommy Merlyn of all people would have been the one behind the Prometheus alias. Every issue that he had with Oliver before his death had to do with how Oliver was compromising his morals, compromising the law to justify a crusade that entailed murdering people. It was asinine for Oliver to think that he would be the one challenging him by doing exactly that. Let alone the mere fact of Tommy being alive.

But the sight he had just seen was oh so clear and vivid. Tommy's words were still ringing in his mind like a mantra. It was like the picture he once had of the man Tommy used to be was actively being repainted on the canvas of Oliver's memory and perception. He almost couldn't see past the faded green leather that rested upon his skin, as if the Tommy he once knew no longer existed in his memories.

But he knew that this wasn't something that he could stand and wallow in. He believed in the words that he told Tommy— his friends would find him. But that wasn't going to stop him from actively searching for any way out. He looked for anything along the walls that would indicate where he was. The lack of windows led him to believe that where he was wasn't above ground.

There was a prison-like sliding door that would've required a secondary effort to escape from— but he knew that if he could escape from these shackles, he could find his way out by fighting. He'd done something like it before.

So he worked at trying to break free. He tugged the thick chain link with as much brute force as he possibly could. He positioned his body in every angle that his calculative brain could imagine. And when he found no success, he kept trying, hoping that he was at least gradually chipping away at the hold the concrete had on the chains.

After what felt like hours of him using every ounce of strength that he had to try and release himself even slightly from the captivity of the chains, his body felt like it was going to going to give out. So he sat on the floor and tried to focus the strength on his legs and triceps, attempting angles from the ground level. None of it seemed to work.

He would rest for a while, halfway anticipating for Tommy to walk in with more words to say. There also still existed that hope that someone between Kara, Barry, Adrian, or Thea would show up to save him. But for now, he was focused on saving himself. So after giving himself time to get his strength back, he would go through the same process again. The results never changed.

In his third trip in this vicious cycle of hope and disappointment, Tommy finally walked in. He laughs with arrogance as he knows that there's no way that Oliver could escape from the bondage that he had put him in. He obnoxiously claps, forcing Oliver's attention to immediately go to him as he walked in his direction.

"I always admired your will and determination," he tells him smugly. "It's one of your better qualities."

Oliver shakes his head as he exhales sharply. "I'm done with these games, Tommy. What is the point of all of this?"

"Patience, my friend," Tommy says with bluster. "You'll find out soon enough. Now, is there anything else you want to know about me before all of this continues? Because I know it's been a while and you have a lot of questions."

"Just the one. . ." Oliver trails off coldly as he readjusted his stance. "What have you been doing the last three years to make you think that any of this is right?"

Tommy then pulls a sword from the latch draped along his back. He lightly glides his fingers across it, staring at it with a smug grin on his face, "it's funny you ask that." He then looks up, sharply drawing the tip of his sword beneath Oliver's chin. "Because I found out a few things in my time away." He grazes the bone, causing the skin to break open. "Do you want to tell me what you did in the years you weren't on Lian Yu?"

"Why is that important?" Oliver asks in frustration, grimacing slightly at the nagging pain caused by the blade.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Tommy asks, a struggle appearing in his voice and demeanor as he pulls his sword away and brings it to his side. "You don't understand why all of this is happening?"

Oliver narrows his eyes, his jaw dropping slightly as he replies in angered confusion, "what do my experiences after Lian Yu have to do with any of this?"

"Were you in Hong Kong in late 2009?"

"Yes."

"Did you know that I came to look for you?"

This time Oliver doesn't reply. He simply nods, lowering his head to avoid seeing the growing betrayal resting in Tommy's glare.

"And it was you that made sure that I thought that you were dead?"

He doesn't move his attention from his shackles as he tells him with solemn, "yes."

"You allowed me to believe that you were dead for five years," Tommy's torment was becoming more and more evident in his voice as it rasped in his bout of rage. "Five years that I spent going to sleep every night grieving my best friend. Just wishing that I could have one more conversation with him," he harshly places his hand beneath Oliver's chin, pushing his head upwards as he forces his eyes to be level with his. "Come to find out, I did. You intimidated me to leave Hong Kong through a lie. And I wanted to be surprised when I found out but I wasn't. You know why?"

Oliver swallows the lump in his throat, feeling his anger slowly morph into guilt as he looks into the woeful eyes staring back at him. He shakes his head, trying to look away.

"Because," Tommy begins, squeezing his chin in a way that forces the slit on it to pulse blood and send a sting of pain through that area. He says his next words through gritted teeth, "you spent the entirety of your time home lying to me, lying to Laurel, your mother, Thea, everyone in your life. Because that is what you do," he pushes his hand off his chin, keeping his head level and within millimeters of his as he finishes, "you lie."

"I know you deserved better than how I treated you then," Oliver explains, desperately trying to find some kind of neutral standing. "But my life was complicated. I've been trying to be better—"

"Do you think I give a shit?" Tommy yells, leaving Oliver to feel his warm breath from his rage as his face got even closer. "The last thing that you ever told me was a lie. And it wasn't even about you!"

"What?" Oliver asks as Tommy circles around him. "What are you even talking about?"

He can feel his body against his back. For a slight second, it was quiet as he tried to anticipate what Tommy's next move was. But even as he felt his elbow restrict his neck, there was nothing that he could do. His chains stopped him from any kind of fighting back, and the walls around him felt like they were closing in more and more as he slowly brought him on the ground until he was on his knees.

"This is how my father had you dead to rights, isn't it?" Tommy whispers with fury in his ear. "He was going to kill you. . ." Oliver tried to nudge himself away but his struggles only made the suffering worse. Breathing was becoming harder to come by and he could feel himself slowly losing consciousness. He feels Tommy reach back for something, only to hold an arrow out in front of him as he asked, "and you had one of these. How did you do it again?"

He then points the arrow towards Oliver, driving it in the exact place in his shoulder that Oliver had to impale Malcom Merlyn's heart. The scar was still there, which probably made it easier for Tommy to find the entrance point. The pain only worsened as Tommy made his way back to Oliver's front side, slicing the arrow all the way through his back. It knocked the breath out of him, causing him to double over before Tommy forced him upright in a loose grip with an elbow around his neck.

"You'll live. But I think you know that," Tommy tells him smugly, ripping the arrow out and garnering a cry of pain from Oliver as the exit was worse than the entry. "Just like you knew the strike to my father's heart would end his life. And as I was taking my final breath, you told me that you didn't kill him, knowing exactly what you had done."

"I wasn't trying to hide it from you. . ." Oliver chokes out while trying to regain his breath. "I didn't want you to die knowing I killed your father. You deserved better than that."

"I deserved to know the truth!" Tommy yells, dropping Oliver's weakening body to the ground. He fell on his back, looking up at Tommy as he looked down on him in his spite. "As I died, I thought that I was wrong about you. I thought that you spared him because you were still the man that I knew. My best friend." He squatted down on one knee, making sure that his eyes riddled with anguish were intently glaring into Oliver's as he says, "but I came back to life, only to find out that you're not even a man. You just make your loved ones and yourself believe that you're anything more than a monster. And for that. . ." He trails off as his voice lowers. "You deserve the suffering that you've gotten."

"Is that what all of this is about?" Oliver asks, lifting his upper body off the ground and immediately feeling pushback from the wound in his shoulder. He tries to ignore it but it only leaves him struggling to speak. "Making me suffer because of the mistakes that I made? Hurting me for hurting you?"

"You think that this is just vengeance?" Tommy says with a raised eyebrow, almost in disbelief. "You think that this is about my 'feelings' being hurt? Oh, Ollie. We've got a long way to go before this is over."

"Then what is it about?" Oliver asks, almost in desperation.

"That's why you're here," he says with an disingenuous smile. "To figure it out. And if you care about the people you love, you better hope and pray that you do."

Oliver feels the rage fire back into his body as he asks, "what the hell does that mean?"

"I'm sure Felicity, Thea, and Barry are going to be tough to crack, but Adrian. . . that man's loyalty puzzles me," Tommy begins, a condescension in his tone that nearly makes him sound baleful. "Considering that you killed his father in cold blood."

"He has honor," Oliver replies coldly. "Something you seemed to have left in the Pit."

"Oliver Queen preaching to me about honor seems a little rich, don't you think?" Tommy says as he stands up, folding his arms as he once again looks down own Oliver. "All of the people you've killed because you think you're some kind of omnipotent being that chooses who lives or dies. You call that your mission— and people even deem you a hero for it. But you want to talk about honor?"

"I'm not talking about me," Oliver begins firmly. "Adrian having honor has nothing to do with me, so why try to make it that way?"

"Like you said, I had honor once as well," Tommy says with ice in his glare and voice, kneeling next to him once again. "Until you forced me to compromise it."

Oliver chuckles dryly. "I'm not falling for that, Tommy. You made the choice to become this. That's not on me. That's on you."

"Would you say that to her?"

As if on cue, the woman that had been connected with Prometheus at every turn walked in. Oliver gingerly stands up as she nears him, his curiosity peaking as the momentum of the conversation felt as if it was leading to her taking off her mask as well. Her hair wasn't in the normal braid that typically rested along her shoulder. No, it was down, wavy— half way down her chest. Most of the time, he wouldn't suspect anyone on recognition of hair. But he saw the correlation almost immediately. He had just seen her before Tommy stuck a tranquilizing needle in his neck.

She didn't have to take her mask off for his breath to be taken away. The shock of the reveal was already present in his demeanor as his jaw dropped and tears slowly began to trickle down his cheek.

"Laurel?" Oliver asks through a narrowed stare. He watches in desolation as she pulls down her hood, revealing the eyes that once lit up his world. Now, however, they glared back at him with contempt. She removed the cloth that covered the lower half of her face and the smile that used to drive him to be better suddenly sparked a burst of fury. She was as unrecognizable as Tommy was.

And he was beginning to understand why.

"Why did you bring her into this?" Oliver nearly pleads with Tommy. "Why did you even put her in the pit and tarnish her soul like this?"

"Tarnish her soul?" Tommy begins in awed disbelief. "I put her in the pit to give her a second chance. A chance to find fulfillment. I did what you couldn't."

"She had fulfillment, Tommy," Oliver replies, barely speaking above a whisper. He looks over at Laurel, who's eyes had grown less cold as she looked on. He speaks in a hope that something within her would turn on the light switch that he knew existed in her heart. "She had it in being the Black Canary."

"Why did she have to become the Black Canary?" Tommy asks. "To avenge her sister's death? To channel her grief? And what caused that?"

"Yourfather did!" Oliver yells, lunging at Tommy and feeling the shackles resist strongly against his wrist. "Your father had your half-sisterkill Sara to pin me against the League."

"But she never would've gotten involved with the League had she not gotten on the boat with you," Laurel finally chips in.

"Don't you get it? Don't you see how all of this goes back to one person?" Tommy begins, pointing his index finger into Oliver's chest. "You infect every single person that you touch. You carry them to their deaths. I saw it. Laurel finally saw it. But it took us dying and being resurrected to be able to come to that realization."

Oliver wanted to speak up but he couldn't. He felt his heart slowly closing in itself, caving and caving like it might implode. And this wasn't in because it was full. It was because it was being emptied more and more as time went on in this cell, and there was nothing to hold it together anymore. Tears had halted. Every thing that had resembled an emotion became an ailing numbness that crippled his physical stature.

He knew the words that were about to come out of Tommy's mouth and he wanted to deny them. But the truth was, he was accepting them long before they were uttered because there was a realist buried in his subconscious. So he braced himself in preparation for the bullets that were about to penetrate his skin.

"How much longer until Adrian sees it? Surely not long. He already has resentment towards you. . .," Tommy rambles. A shot to the arm."Felicity? Thea? Barry? The ones who've been there for you at your worst? Do you have them so fooled that they can't even see the threat that stands right in front of them?"

A shot to the leg.

"And Kara?" Tommy begins, forced dismay in his tone as he places his face right in front of Oliver's. "I think the job you've done on her might be the most cruel of all."

As he feels the fatal blow hit his heart, he falls to his knees. He looks up at Tommy, finding an inkling of anger in his grief as he whispers, "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Good," Tommy adds, throwing a punch that lands square on Oliver's cheek bone and a knee to the chest that forces the air out of him. "We're finally getting somewhere." He shoves him to the ground, walking towards the exit as he utters, "I'll let you chew on that for a while."

He could the hear the echo of his footsteps become fainter as he got further away. Laurel had left too, remaining mostly quiet as she allowed him to get his fair share of words in. A moment of peace was something that he had hoped for once Tommy was no longer in his presence. The silence, however, was suffocating. It left him alone in his own thoughts which, for Oliver, was always a path to self-destruction. Especially when his thoughts were being driven by the harrowing accusations—no, statements— made by someone he once loved more than life.

There was a burning in his chest— it began with the laceration caused by the arrow that Tommy forced into his shoulder, sending a debilitating sear throughout his entire upper body. He could feel the blood puddling while lightly trickling sideways across his collarbone, providing the only warm sensation that his body could feel.

But there was also an aching in his heart as he continued to ponder on what Tommy had said. For so long, he regretted so many of the decisions he made in the final months of Tommy's life. Whether it be the lies, pursuing Laurel despite encouraging him to do so, not accepting the changes he'd made in his life—- all of the things that had set him on a dark path even before his death and resurrection. But now? They were augmented in his journey back to Oliver. They were apart of what made him into who he was today—- and that was a version of his best friend that he didn't even recognize.

But the harshest truth? The truth that Oliver could only come to the conclusion to by the cues made in Tommy's monologue— he was the inspiration behind who he had become. And it wasn't the fulfilling inspiration that he hoped he could be when he decided to honor Tommy's memory in his own personal journey to becoming the Green Arrow. It was the darkened motivation towards becoming someone who wants to create anarchy to prove a point. That's who Prometheus had been.

That's who Tommy had been.

And all of this time, Oliver had been fighting a war that he had caused himself. It was a butterfly effect from decisions that he had made— the lies he told, the lives that he put in danger. The things that he believed that he had moved on from and been made for it. He was stuck in an endless void of suffering. And the people he loved— they paid the price.

They suffer because of him— and what has he really accomplished, if that were the case?

The answer would be nothing. And in fact, he's probably made it worse.

But there was one thing that he could hold on to. It was the one thing that he could feel even the tip of his finger grasp for as he fell further and further into the pit of his own despair.

So he called out to it. As he lied on the cold ground, he felt a single tear fall perpendicular to his cheek, begging for someone to hear him. Not just anyone. The one person who could hear his heartbeat and voice over billions of others and could pinpoint where he was exactly.

"Kara," he whispers. "Kara, I know you can hear me. I'm somewhere underground. Come find me. Please."

Oliver hadn't quite figured out how to pass time in this cell.

At first, he had been pulling away at the chains in his attempts to escape. That made time feel as if it was passing quicker. But he had given up any hope that he could fight himself out of this one. The pain of his wound was becoming more and more unbearable as the hours went on and there was a soreness coming about almost every bone in his body. He was not only still reeling from the effort and force it took to try and pull metal chains out of concrete, but it had been God-knows how long since he had any food or water.

His body wasn't coping well with the physical stresses along with the psychological torment that not only Tommy but he was putting himself through. He was growing weaker by the second— and all he could do was pray to a God he didn't even believe in that somehow he could be saved.

He closes his eyes, trying to get even a moment of relief in the form of sleep before it was interrupted by a quaint voice.

"Ollie. . ."

Oliver hears it come from the other side of the room. He slowly sits up, seeing Laurel standing at the doorway with hesitation in her demeanor. She looks away, almost as if she can't bear to look him in the eye as she says, "I can't imagine what you think of me right now."

This was the first time that Oliver had a moment where he wasn't in shock at her presence. He was able to revel in it for a moment— even if she wasn't who he remembered. So much of the last few months he had spent grieving her, longing for her. And her she was, still looking as beautiful as she did the day they first met. But there was still a longing resting in his heart because he knew that things would never be the same between them.

He still couldn't hide the relief from his face as he looked at her. He could feel his throat closing in as he once again was fighting tears. He shakes his head as he says, "I just can't believe you're alive."

"Now you know how I felt when you came home four years ago," she tells him, a slight smile forming across her face as she reminisces. "I really wanted to hate you. I did. But then when I saw you, alive, standing right in front of me. . ."

"You were reminded of everything you ever felt," Oliver finishes for her, getting a slow nod. He shakes his head once again, this time in affirmation as he says, "I don't want to hate you, Laurel. I just want to know why you're doing all of this."

"Because Tommy brought me back," Laurel explains as she makes her way towards him. "He also died saving my life. I owe him everything. This was the least I could do—"

"Standing by as he kills people or has someone else do the killing for him?" Oliver begins, the softness in his tone hardening as he narrows his gaze. "Facilitating weapons deals with gangs? Causing chaos and fear in a city that you swore to protect? Laurel, that's not repaying him. That's enabling him."

"Everything that Tommy has done has been for a reason," Laurel tells him, almost in disbelief that he was calling him out in the manner he was. "And I believe in his mission and end goal. The same way that I did yours."

"And what is that?" Oliver asks with impatience. "Calling me out for what I've done?"

"It's to make you see what you've done," she explains, her tone becoming icy as she continues. "It's to make you feel every bit of pain that you've caused by your mistakes. For you to suffer in the ways you've made everyone around you suffer. Betrayal, heartbreak, lies. . . And maybe when you see that, you'll see yourself for what you actually are."

Her words feel like a dagger slowly cutting in his chest. He knows that Laurel is simply a mouthpiece for Tommy's vendetta— but there was a sincerity, a pain in her voice that made him believe that apart of her was speaking from the heart. So as the weight of the words sinks his chest inwards, he asks in his exasperation, "and what is that to you, Laurel? Who am I to you?"

She walks closer to him, placing her had gently across his cheek. He relishes in the touch, as it was something that he had been longing for. And just as he was allowing himself to get lost in what he felt, there was a sharp pain in his lower abdomen.

"You're the man who got me killed," Laurel says lowly, pushing the arrow even further into his stomach. "You ruined my life, twice. Once with Sara—" She pulls the arrow out, causing him to double over as he covers the new gash with his hand. "—and then when you let me join your team despite me not being ready."

Oliver coughs, as he once again was trying to regain his breaths after an injury given to him in his defenseless state. He shakes his head as he chokes out, "what did Tommy do to you?"

"He showed me the truth that I had refused to accept for years," Laurel explains, hunkering down and leveling her eyes with Oliver's. "And once I did, I realized that I had to play a part in you realizing it yourself. I trained rigorously for months. He put me through hell. And once he realized that I was ready, we made our way back here. He didn't throw me out to the wolves like you did."

"You know that's not what happened. . ." Oliver says through angered tears. "I didn't want you to go out in the field. I told you that. But there was nothing stopping you and I wasn't going to get in your way."

There was a hesitance in her eyes. She wanted to relent, Oliver could sense it. Her response lulled as her eyes softened. But the conviction was gained back as she slowly straightened herself up and told him, "you should have stopped me then. Maybe we wouldn't be here if you did."

"This isn't you, Laurel," Oliver says, almost with a whisper.

"Tommy isn't who he used to be either," Laurel replies coldly. She scans him up and down, almost as if she was trying to signal an allusion that he was also apart of. "I guess it's going around."

And as he watched her walk away, his worst fear had come to be true. He had lost her again. And this time, it wasn't because fate had scissored away her string of life. It was a choice that she made. And he wasn't sure that it could ever be undone.

Time was beginning to feel nonexistent in the cold, dimly lit cell. The longer that he spent in it, the quicker his sense of time went away. He couldn't gauge what was a minute, what was an hour. The adrenaline had not driven away his pain for long as the stab wounds and impact bruises that Tommy and Laurel had given him were burning and aching with every movement of his upper body.

He had thought that Tommy had given him enough emotional torment to make him roll in his distress. But then Laurel came in and ripped whatever was left of his heart from his chest. It was like he couldn't even feel anymore. Whether it be physical or emotional pain, it all just went through the tunnel void that was his conscience.

The apathy had extended to Tommy's more conventional attempts of torture. There were vast differences in the temperature of the room, as sometimes it would be so warm that he could feel his body releasing every ounce of water that was left in him in a heap of sweat. Other times, he would be lying on the concrete shivering to try to generate any kind of heat that he possibly could.

Tommy would come in, use him as a punching bag of sorts to try to get a rise out of him and force him into saying words he didn't truly mean. But Oliver would just remain silent. For a sign of defiance, of course. But also because he didn't care what Tommy did to him. He didn't care about the pain that he brought on. His care for his own physical well-being was growing to be less of a factor as time went on.

He even shoved his head in a bucket of water, telling him to own up to what he was hiding. He did this three times, only getting more and more frustrated as time went on and Oliver wasn't saying a word. He eventually gave up, shoving him to the ground and walking out as he cursed to himself in his frustrations.

In his next period of time, however, he began to think about the people that he cared about. For the first time, in what felt like forever, there was a sense of longing desire to see them resting in his heart. It was subtle— but it was warm enough to bring about a slight hope that maybe they'd come to save him. Maybe subconsciously he believed that he was only meant to take so much torture. And maybe, just maybe, the world would relieve him of the physiological and physically torment that he was being forced to deal with.

But that hope was gone quicker than it came. The harsh realization that after all of this time, they still hadn't come to save him, was just as crippling as anything Tommy had told him. They weren't coming— and even if they were, the damage was already done.

And as he was finally grappling with this realization, the piercing voice of Tommy's came ripping through the room as he forced open the metal door on the other side of the room.

"Get up, Ollie. . ."

Tommy's heavy footsteps were coming closer to Oliver as he laid on the floor with his eyes closed, trying to find a singular moment of peace that he hadn't been able to find in what felt like days. He didn't budge until he felt the tip of Tommy's shoe against his rib cage, nailing the tender area from his previous injury. It caused Oliver to let out a grunt of pain as he rolled over on his stomach before bringing himself to his knees. He felt like he couldn't stand much more.

"Stand up," he continued, leveling his head with Oliver's and not moving it until Oliver did what he demanded. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion for him. His limbs were aching, his torso and chest felt like a match was being lit inside of it.

He exhales shakily, not making eye contact with Tommy as he asks in almost desperation, "why am I still here?"

"Because you have yet understand why you're here. . ."

Oliver scoffs so harshly it almost becomes a chuckle as he finally looks at Tommy, rage in his eyes as he tells him, "Laurel told me. Days ago. Was that not apart of your plan? For her to tell me your words to make me think that they were her's?"

"I had nothing to do with that. That was her decision." Tommy replies, narrowing his glare as his tone sharpens. "I need to hear you say the words that I know that you're too afraid to say."

"What words?" Oliver retorts through a harsh exhale. "I'm sorry? I'm sorry for lying to you?"

"After everything that I've done so meticulously over the last few months, you think that I did all of that for a single apology. . . " He trails off, shaking his head slowly as he chuckles dryly to himself. "You're more naive than I remembered."

"Then just fucking tell me,"Oliver tells him, feeling his shoulders sulk in his dejection. "You don't want to kill me— so why. . " His voice falls to a near whisper. ". . .why are you doing this?"

"Do you remember what you told me that night at Verdant?" Tommy begins. "You told me that you could finallytell me the how and why. I don't think you ever did. I want you to now."

Oliver takes a deep breath as he thinks back to what was over three years ago. He had just told Tommy that he was the vigilante in an attempt to make him trust him enough to help save his father's life. Tommy hadn't taken it well. He was refusing to talk to him, avoiding him actually. And when they finally were face to face once again, Oliver begged him to give him an opportunity to hear him out. He wasn't willing to listen.

He never got the chance to tell him. More animosity had come in between them and the only time that Oliver and Tommy both felt at peace with one another, Tommy was breathing his final breaths— or at least what they thought were.

And he couldn't help but look away as the reminder was almost too painful for him. Despite Tommy standing mere feet from him, it didn't take away from the grief that he went though in the time that he thought he was gone. The guilt that he felt when thinking about what Tommy must have believed about him in his final moments.

He knew what Tommy was thinking. He got his confirmation in the state that he found himself in now.

"The how and why then doesn't matter. . . " Oliver responds lowly, refusing to look at Tommy as he speaks. "That's not who I am now."

"You owe it to me, after everything that happened," Tommy tells him firmly, a break in his voice that Oliver wasn't expecting. He forces his chin up, making him see the pain that rested in his eyes. It only added to the internal turmoil that was ailing him. "Now I know what your answer is going to be. But I want to hear you say it."

Oliver feels his lips flex and quiver as he tries to hold back his tears. "My father wanted me to right the wrongs he had committed towards Starling City. He gave me a list— your father's list— of people to target to do it. And that's what I did."

"By doing what?" Tommy asks knowingly, grasping his chin with his fingers tightly. "Killing them?"

"Only if they didn't comply."

"But you still made the choice to kill them, right? You could have detained them, gift wrapped them to the SCPD. . ." He trails off as he takes an arrow off the ground, placing the blood covered tip over Oliver's heart. "But you decided to end their life. Now why would you do that?"

Oliver shakes his head. "I've moved on from that mindset, Tommy."

"But you haven't!" Tommy tells. "You put an arrow through one of my best men's heart and killed him."

Realizing he was talking about the buyer at the weapons sale, his eyes widen in disbelief as he screams back, "because he nearly killed me!"

"Is that your excuse now, Ollie?" Tommy continues in his rage. "Is self-defense what you hide behind to excuse killing people? Ra's Al Guhl. Damien Darhk. All of the gang bangers that have been found dead in the last five months. And now him. You're still doing it' So how far away from that mindset are you actually?"

Oliver doesn't have an answer to his question. So he stands there in silence as he ponders, trying his hardest to reconcile with who he was back then and who he was now. But the more difficult it became, the more he began to wonder if there was any rectifying that could be done.

And then the reminder of one of the last things Tommy said to him rang through his mind like a poison. It began to rot his conscience, stemming tarnished thoughts to overcome any rationale that had stood it's ground in the time that he had been stuck in these chains. Any words that Tommy said were now going to chip away at the crisping roots of his convictions.

"Why do you kill, Oliver?" Tommy reiterates. "If it's not to right your father's wrongs, if it's not in self-defense, then why do you do it?"

His heart clenched at the response brewing within him. Suddenly, that hollow feeling that he felt when he had returned from the island had made its way to his stomach. There was a murk tinting his demeanor, his thoughts. It was a vicious cycle in his life in the last five years to find himself coming back to this state of mind— and he was beginning to realize that the cycle would never end.

And that reminder of what Tommy had told him years ago had become intertwined with his response, chipping away at his alright crumpling soul.

You're a serial killer

"I do it because I want to. . ."

A subtle smirk of vindication forms across Tommy's lips as he looks at Oliver in victory. He plays coy while asking him, "what?"

"I fucking wanted to," Oliver repeats strongly, feeling his body move with his words as he charges Tommy. His finishing words end high on volume and vengeful in tone. "And I enjoyed every damn minuteof it."

Tommy nods. "Now you see don't you?"

Oliver can't speak as his entire body feels as if it could go limp. All he can do is fixate on the words that escaped his lips, realizing that there as a truth revealed that he never realized was written on his heart. The cognizance of the weight of his words brought him back to his knees. It was as if the darkness had finally broke through— after years of him allowing it to hide underneath his hood, under the excuses of his crusade, the iniquity of who he had become had dimmed his mind and his soul.

And he then realized that this was why his past always found a way to haunt him. He had been trying for so long to allow a light to shine within him and for a while, he truly believed it existed inside of him. But as he looked at Tommy, who had become a personification of every single thing he had done wrong, he comes to the conclusion that his soul was never meant to be an illuminated feature. No— it was surrounded by a curtain created to shield away the sun.

He knows that his reaction, or lack thereof, towards Tommy's response spoke more than even a nod could. He doesn't speak, he just listens as Tommy drives the dagger in even further.

"I'm glad that you can finally be honest with yourself. And with me, of course," Tommy trails off as he squats down next to where Oliver was on his knees, his shoulders sulking as his entire demeanor was falling towards his shackles. "But your friends and family deserve better than your false exterior, don't you think? They're probably worried about you right now because they think their life's made better by you being in it. But it's not. I realized it. Laurel realized it. And I think you've realized it too."

Tommy then stands up, Oliver watching as he makes his way towards a bow and quiver on the ground. After strapping the quiver over his shoulder, he places an arrow in the drawstring. He continues what had become a long, debilitating monologue that Oliver couldn't help but allow to keep pushing him closer to the edge of a cliff. "I know when your friends eventually find you, they're going to have questions. I don't know if you'll give them answers but I think I can play a part in that."

When Oliver sees him draw the string back, his eyes widen as his attempt to beg for mercy is stifled by an arrow taking his breath away. It impaled his chest, right underneath his collar bone. And before he could even croak a word, Tommy shot another one that penetrated within mere millimeters of where the first laceration had began bleeding. He was less taken back by the third, as his body was beginning to grow more accustomed to the pain surging through it.

"I saw the pictures of Justin Claybourne's autopsy," Tommy began as he once again made his way towards Oliver. "He had three arrows in his chest. But that didn't kill him. . ." He then rips the first out of Oliver's skin, reminding his body that pain was a reality. "It was the fall into the water that did him. He died of asphyxiation."

Pulling the other arrow out, he continues. "All because you wanted the feel the high of taking someone's life. And in turn. . ." He trails off as he removes the final arrow, sending Oliver into an agonizing cry of pain. "You sent Adrian Chase down a path of darkness. His son. And now you try to rectify your sin by telling him to do what you do. Pathetic."

He shoves him down to the ground and Oliver chooses to stay there. There's nothing within him that is driving him to stand and fight, or speak and fight. He simply lies there to take the continual thrashing that he'd been receiving from Tommy. It wasn't because he had given up— well, he had. But not because he was a quitter. No. It was because Tommy was right. And who would he be to try and challenge the truth with the lie of having ground to stand on?

"So now, when you see these scars, you'll remember not only our time together, but everything you've done in your life to hurt the people that you care about. and when Adrian sees what happened to you, I hope he asks what I did. And I sincerely hope you tell him the truth." Tommy stands up from his squat and begins to walk away, turning as he gets to the exit door of the cell. He finishes coldly, "because all of this would've been in vain if you revert back to old habits."

And as the room grew quiet once again and the pain was nearly overtaking Oliver, he had a moment to think to himself. The last conversation that he and Tommy had left him desperately hoping for his friends to find him. But as he laid here against the cold concrete, he didn't want to move. He wanted the walls around him to constrict his breathing and suffocate his life away.

He didn't want to be found. He wanted the world to move along without him. He wanted the people he loved to be replenished of what he had infected them with. They deserved nothing else.

And he deserved nothing more.

A/N: To be honest, I was terrified to post this chapter. Probably more so than other chapters. It's such a central piece to the story and introducing Tommy as Prometheus and I was really hoping to nail it. It's also incredibly important to Oliver's character arc to this point and going forward.

I also took a lot of inspiration from one of my favorite storylines and episodes done on TV- so I really was adamant on making sure that I did it justice. And I really hope that I did!

Let me know what you think!