Disclaimer: These things are so meaningless, I really don't see why I keep including them.

The Siege of Starling City

By Kylia

Chapter 5: Following Up

Organized Crime has been a thing since the moment two criminals decided to work together rather than backstab each other. But it's always changing - classic movies and TV shows like the Godfather and the Sopranos painted an image of the Italian Mafia that hadn't really ever been true, but was especially not true by the early 21st century, when everything changed. The Mafia wouldn't survive the rise of Superheroes. We still have organized crime, but it's villains and their rotating casts of minions, not mobsters and dons.

-Opening lines of the Youtube Video "Whatever Happened to the Mafia?: A 10 Minute Summary", from the channel 'CrimeHistoryTV'. Posted on April 24th, 2078.

Warehouse, Outskirts of the Glades

November 11th, 2013

"Good job finding them," Laurel told Roy Harper, dropping in behind him. Unlike the last few times she'd done this, he didn't audibly startle - his shoulders did stiffen and he physically jumped up a bit, but the kid had started to hone his situational awareness, and more importantly, control his reactions.

Also, Laurel hadn't tried as hard as she usually would to hide her approach.

"Isn't counterfeit money a little bourgeois for you?" Roy asked, lowering the binoculars .

"Aren't you dating one of the richest heiresses in the city?" Laurel countered, a little surprised by his word choice. Roy wasn't an idiot, but a word like 'bourgeois' wasn't really something she'd have expected from him. "Besides, the best way to spend counterfeit money is in bodegas, independent little shops where the most people are likely to have is an easily beatable testing pen. Banks and millionaires aren't usually fooled by the fakes, not for long."

"My girlfriend isn't your business,"

"No, not especially," Laurel agreed, though it really was, if Roy ever did wrong by Thea. At least when Oliver was out of the city, like he was right now, helping Diggle rescue his ex, Lyla from somewhere in Russia. "Wait here," Laurel added, starting to move past him.

"I-" Roy started, wanting to protest, but he seemed to think better of it, taking a breath.

"I need intel more than I need a sidekick," Laurel said. "Besides, while you're getting better, you didn't notice that I'm not the only one who here, watching you." Laurel looked over into the shadows beside a bunch of rusted metal barrels. "You can come out now,"

"There's no one there-" Roy started to say, following her gaze, when Nyssa stepped out of the shadows. If Laurel hadn't known her and the League's tricks so well, she might have missed her too.

"Your would be apprentice has much work ahead of him," Nyssa observed, looking at Roy. "And you haven't even broken any of his bones."

"Your full-contact method of training has its downsides, Nyssa," Laurel said dryly. She had managed to be a fairly fast learner under Nyssa's tutelage, but - it took a hell's worth of pain to get there.

Laurel saw Roy's eyes go from one to the other, confusion written on his face.

"You didn't think I just sprang up, fully formed knowing how to fight like I did?" Laurel pointed out, chuckling a little. "Nyssa taught me everything I know."

"You've grown quite beyond that now, Black Canary," Nyssa praised. Laurel was surprised that Nyssa would call her that, but she must have gathered that Roy didn't know her identity yet. "I'm afraid I'm not in Starling for pleasure, but it would seem you have your hands full."

"Not especially. But it would be easter if you came along," Laurel offered. She turned to Roy, "You did good, but like I said, not yet. You're improving, but if you're serious about helping, you need to be better before you won't get in the way."

Roy bit back the instinctive protest, but nodded, stepping up and back, turning a corner and walking away.

"He's not leaving," Nyssa murmured in Arabic to Laurel. "He'll stay and try to get involved."

"Of course he will," Laurel replied in the same language. "But he won't have an opening. Especially not now that you're here," Laurel drew her tonfas, and then frowned as Nyssa drew her sword. "No killing," she added in English.

"You have sworn your oaths to take no more lives, but I have not," Nyssa countered. "The men you are here for are hardly innocent."

"The Black Canary doesn't kill. And even the Arrow doesn't anymore. If word got out the Black Canary was seen with someone who did kill..." Laurel shook her head. "No killing."

Nyssa frowned, obviously not understanding, but nodded, "Only the flat of the blade," she offered, and Laurel nodded. It was the best she was going to get.

There were only four criminals in the warehouse, less than Laurel had expected - the two with the plates for the fake money, and the two paying for them. Laurel dropped down behind the two with the plates, sweeping their legs out from under them with blows from her tonfas, kicking the case with the plates off to the side. She barely needed to do any more - her two all but screamed out their surrenders when they realized the woman standing over them as they struggled to get to their feet was the Black Canary.

Laurel still knocked them out, rather than risk them running.

The other two had been dealt with just as easily - Laurel's arrival had seen them draw their weapons, but Nyssa had dropped down behind them, hitting their hands with the flat of her blade, knocking the guns free and leaving them easy pickings - with a few kicks and hits from the flat, Nyssa had them on the floor, her foot on the chest of the one, and her blade at the throat of the other.

"You- I though you didn't kill!" The one with the sword at his throat protested, looking past Nyssa to Laurel. "You gonna let-"

Nyssa rapped his cheek lightly with her sword. "You're alive, aren't you?" Nyssa didn't have a mask, or even her hood on, but it hardly mattered. She stepped back, blade still raised. "This is the Black Canary's city, so I honor her code."

"Who the hell are you?" The thug protested, but Nyssa didn't answer, leaning down and hitting him atop his head with the hilt of her blade, enough to knock him out but with minimal chance for permanent damage.

"Yo- you don't need to do that-" the other one, the foot on hios chest still holding him in place. At the sound of sirens in the distance, Nyssa decided not to waste any more time, giving him the same treatment.

With all four dealt with, it was a simple matter to be gone from the warehouse by the time the police arrived, moving quickly into empty alleys and side streets to travel the short distance to where Laurel had stashed her bike before coming in silently.

"When word gets out about you, it's just going to raise all sorts of questions," Laurel considered. "Black Canary's friend with a sword."

"They will speak of me?" Nyssa raised an eyebrow.

"Criminals are practically high school girls, when it comes to gossipping about the Black Canary and the Arrow. I've overheard more theories, guesses and wild speculation about who we are and where we came from than I can keep track off," Laurel replied, chuckling. From the conventional (former organized crime enforcers, former MMA fighter in the case of the Black Canary and a professional historical reenactor in the case of the Arrow who had both lost friends or family to crime), to the unlikely (that they were ex CIA assassins or ex special forces of one sort or another) to the outlandish - they were aliens, or time travelers, of all things. One particularly devout drug dealer - a contradiction in terms - had decided he thought the Black Canary had made a deal with the devil to be able to pull off everything she did.

'How is she always showing up at just the right time to ruin everything. Gotta be she sold her soul, man!"

None of the criminals she'd overheard had ever taken seriously the 'I think it might be Oliver Queen and Laurel Lance' theory that had been floated a few times on the internet, though far less often since Oliver's staged and failed trial.

"Their speculation only fuels their fear," Nyssa considered. "In time, perhaps you will scare them into behaving."

"Has the League managed to put an end to sin, Nyssa?" Laurel countered, "You've been putting the fear of Justice into the hearts of criminals and monsters for centuries, and yet humanity has yet to learn it."

"One city is smaller than all the world, and you are far more public than the League." Nyssa pointed out. "But I did not say you would stop all crime. Only that perhaps the fearful would learn you will always stop them."

Nyssa had a strange capacity for a unique sort of optimism. For all that she was a victim of the League in her own way, Nyssa believed in the mission of the league with a passion that matched Laurel's own passion for helping others.

It's one of the reasons I came to see her as a friend. The League was a cult, but for most, Laurel didn't think they had a true passion for their brand of justice. Some, yes. For others it was rote, it was just all they had. It was an excuse to be a bully, a way to have power, to kill with relative impunity. Even when they believed in that mission...

It wasn't the same drive that Nyssa had.

It sometimes made Laurel's heart ache for her friend, what else that passion could have been used for, that drive and ambition to advance her cause, if she'd been given the chance to have even a halfway normal life.

She would have made a damn good lawyer. Especially given how meticulous Nyssa could be in her planning, when she needed to.

"Without us, the areas of the world under our protection would be far worse, the guilty allowed to roam far freer," Nyssa continued, then paused, walking by her side silently as they drew up to her bike, stashed out of sight.

"But I did not come here to speak of the future, but of the past," Nyssa continued. "Ra's al Ghul has sent me to this city."

"I thought it was understood he would leave Starling to us?" Laurel did not want the League to start turning their gaze towards Starling.

"I am not here for the criminals that infest this city. You and your beloved handle them well enough. But Merlyn remains our responsibility. He might be dead, but his legacy is not."

His legacy? Does she mean Tommy? The League can't possibly be going after- "Are you talking about-"

"There is a third Markov Device." Nyssa cut in, and Laurel stared at her, unable to form words for a long moment. Finally, throat feeling dry, Laurel managed to swallow and speak.

"We probably shouldn't discuss this here."

Laurel and Oliver's Apartment, Starling City

November 12th, 2013

"Laurel, I know it's my own damn fault in the big picture, but it's 1 in the goddamn morning, and I just got off a long day and night at the precinct," Sara said as she stepped inside the penthouse apartment. She had been looking forward to getting back home and collapsing onto her bed, but instead, Laurel had texted her, asking her to meet her at the place she and Oliver had moved to. That it was important.

Laurel wouldn't use 'important' in that context, in text, unless it was code for 'vigilante' related, but to meet her at the apartment, rather than the Foundry didn't make much sense to Sara.

"So please, why wouldn't we just discuss this tomorrow, or over the phone or something? Didn't you make me secure my personal phone with all that tech for a reason?" Sara added one the door closed behind her and she looked at Laurel.

Then she blinked, realizing Laurel wasn't alone. Nyssa was standing there, wearing her League outfit, sword at her belt, bow and quiver on her back. Laurel was still in her Black Canary outfit, minus the mask and wig.

"Ah." Sara finally said after a moment. It really was unfair how pretty Nyssa was, given everything. She eyed the bow, wondering how good Nyssa was with it. Laurel had demonstrated her own skill with a bow once, and it was impressive, but as Laurel would freely admit, Oliver was better than her.

Is Nyssa better than Oliver then? It wasn't just idle curiosity on the scale of those 'who would win in a fight' questions regarding characters from fiction, but at least Nyssa was unlikely to come after Laurel or Oliver right now.

"I have come to Starling in the matter of Al-Saher, the one you know as Malcolm Merlyn." Nyssa explained.

"He's dead." Sara said flatly, confused. Then she blinked, remembering that her life was practically a fucking comic book now. "He is dead, right? He didn't use some sort of super science nonsense to resurrect himself? He didn't have some backup clone, right?"

Nyssa stared at her silently as she spoke, her expression unreadable. "He is dead, that has not changed." Sara flushed a little.

"Well, your dad is over two hundred years old and heals himself with something called 'the Lazarus Pit', so forgive me if I've stopped assuming things are impossible these days." Sara countered. "So what is the issue?"

"Merlyn was one of the League's own, so they're making sure they clean up after the mess he left behind, at least outside of Starling." Laurel explained, stepping in not quite between Sara and Nyssa, but close. "The investigation has turned up something - a prototype Markov Device that was made."

"...there's a third one of those things lying around?"

"There's a third one," Laurel nodded. "From what Nyssa has uncovered, it's not as powerful as the ones he actually used, but it could still be used to hurt a lot of people - or reverse engineered."

"And of even more dire import, the League is not the only one seeking this device." Nyssa added. "It is imperative that we find it before they do."

Sara considered. The League had a philosophy of tearingd down a rotten house, which had given Merlyn his inspiration, from what Laurel had said. Granted, they'd disagreed with the scope and scale of Merlyn's plans, it seemed, but still. She didn't really like the idea of them having this device,

But she liked the idea of someone less principled having it even less. The FBI had confiscated all available information on the device already, and much as Sara wasn't some anti-government crusader, she wasn't naive enough to think no one in the Military-Industrial Complex wasn't salivating at the idea.

Nukes were a bad idea too, thinking back to when Laurel had been in college and she'd been working on a position paper on why bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki in WWII had been immoral and indefensible. She also remembered Laurel complaining about her professor's disagreement with her argument, though she had nonetheless scored well on the paper anyway.

Sara had been and still was on her sister's side.

But still. The US Government was one thing. Even the League was one thing. If terrorists or arms dealers or like... Iran got their hands on the prototype, and made more...

As long as you used it in an earthquake prone area and didn't leave a paper trail, people even now would likely assume a devastating earthquake was natural, without proof.

"Well, as far as I know the SCPD hasn't heard hide nor hair about a third device. I could just be out of the loop, but-"

"But you do have access to the information the police have in the investigation," Laurel added. "You could do some discrete digging, get some information that might help narrow it down, at least." Laurel's tone was urgent, voice low, leaning forward a bit earnestly.

"You do not trust the League," Nyssa said, looking Sara over. "It is unfortunate, but unsurprising, for one of your profession. You fear us." I wouldn't say I'm afraid of you. Sara didn't interrupt as Nyssa went on, "But know that you would trust even less and fear even more the man who seeks the device. His hive is searching everywhere for the device, but they are wary or provoking the guardians of this city. That wariness will not stop them for long."

"I'm shaking in my boots," Sara rolled her eyes, Nyssa's dramatics making her sound a little ridiculous. His 'hive'? Who calls someone's criminal organization a 'hive'? "I'll look into it," Sara promised.

"That will be sufficient," Nyssa nodded. She looked to Laurel, "I will continue my search as well. Ra's al Ghul has made the recovery of the device of highest importance." With that, Nyssa moved to the open window and moved down the fire escape.

I suppose she can't just use the front door dressed like that. Sara conceded. But still - did the League teach their people to be dramatic? Or did it just come naturally to Nyssa. She's so stiff and formal too.

"You didn't need to antagonize her," Laurel scolded, quietly.

"I didn't!" Sara protested, then she rolled her eyes. "Okay, a bit, at the end, but still. Is it so bad for me to not trust the League? They're murderers."

"Like me? Like Ollie?" Laurel walked into the kitchen, and Sara followed her, the biting words burning in her ear.

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Sara protested, her voice lower than the vehemence with which she spoke would suggest. "I know you two. I trust you two. And you've both stopped. The League still does it. So yeah, I can't say I like the idea of them having this prototype Markov device."

"Neither do I," Laurel admitted, taking a K-cup of some kind of herbal tea out of it's box and grabbing a mug. "Which is why Nyssa told me she was here looking for it." Sara stared at Laurel, not understanding what her sister was saying. Laurel let out a long breath. "Nyssa didn't have to tell me the League was looking. She didn't have to let us know anything. But she knows me, and she knows that I would rather see the prototype destroyed."

"...so she told you so you'd beat her to it?" Sara hated the slow way she asked the question, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hated feeling slow on the uptake.

"She gave us a chance to, yeah," Laurel confirmed, taking a slow sip of her tea. She gestured to the cupboard with the K-cups. "Coffee?"

What? The sudden change of topic left Sara dizzy for a moment, but then she shook her head. "No, I probably shouldn't." She leaned against the doorframe behind her. "So Nyssa is double-crossing her dad? You said she'd be willing to kill you if he ordered her to."

"Nyssa would not disobey a direct order from her father," Laurel answered softly, letting out a long breath. "But she is capable of being creative within the limits he sets her. She wasn't supposed to come back and tell us what she did about 'Al-Saher'. But she did, because she hadn't been ordered not to. Nyssa believes in the League, and she's loyal to her father. But..."

Laurel looked away, "She doesn't have anyone else in her life she could call friend, but me. Because I didn't know better than to befriend the Heir to the Demon, when she trained me. So... when it comes to me, I guess she's willing to try to carve out an exception." She leaned her head back for a moment, rubbing at her neck, then resumed staring off into space, in the direction of the window overlooking the city.

"When she does things like this... I keep getting this stupid hope that maybe somehow, Nyssa will find it in her to leave the League." Laurel's expression was wistful, hopeful, one corner of her mouth turned up a little. Then it and her face fell entirely as she shook her head. "But she won't, and it's not as if her father would ever release her."

Sara didn't really know what to say to that. She watched her sister set the tea on the counter and towards the window.

"She's her father's heir, but I'm pretty sure he hates and despises her. Certainly doesn't think she's worth much." Laurel scoffed humorlessly. "Could never figure out if it was because of his rampant misogyny or just how much of a terrible father he is."

"Well, I'd guess that it's both," Sara suggested. "Speaking as a cop, terrible fathers who hate their daughters for the unforgiveable sin of being born girls are depressingly common."

Laurel barked another humorless laugh. "Sounds about right." She inhaled. "We need to find that device. Not just so that the League doesn't, but so Damien Darhk and his hive don't."

Sara blinked. "Why are you and Nyssa both referring to this guy's minions as a 'hive'? And who is this... Damien Darhk?"

Laurel turned, looking at Sara. "Not hive as in a word, HIVE as in the acronym. Don't ask me what it stands for, I don't think anyone outside of the group knows, and they are even less inclined to talk than League members. Or so the rumor goes."

"Rumor?"

"Only the innermost members of the League ever had anything directly to do with Darhk, or HIVE. Nyssa didn't share a lot of details. The more junior members, like me... we just shared the stories that passed around Nanda Parbat."

Sara chuckled, the mental image of assassins all wearing the same kind of outfit Laurel had worn last year in some ancient fortress, whispering in each other's ears like middle school girls.

"So you guys had... what, gossip?"

"I mean..." Laurel made a face, clearly not liking that characterization. "More or less. There's a few versions of the story, but the short version is that the current Ra's and Darhk were friends. Or at least as close as men like that could have. They were both candidates to succeed the Ra's al Ghul of that period. In the end, Nyssa's father got the nod and then he failed to kill Darhk,"

Laurel walkled back to her tea and took another sip. "One story is Ra's failed, the other is that he didn't want to kill Darhk."

"Why did he have to?" Sara blinked.

"The ancient law of the League. There can be no one who is in a position to claim the Demon's Head except the current holder and their designated heir. When Ra's ascended to the positon instead of Darhk, Darhk had to die. Instead, he escaped... somehow. Ra's has been obsessed with finding him ever since."

Laurel shrugged, "That's what they say, anyway. What I do know is that Damien Darhk was a member of the League, then he left, and now he heads up a criminal empire known as HIVE. Arms dealing, bank theft, assassinations, possibly human trafficking and drugs... I heard a rumor they tried to buy a nuke on the Black Market once. They say Darhk made deals with the Nazis during World War II... they say he has magical powers, that he can turn your own weapons against you, drain the life from you with a touch. They say a lot of things about him. But everything agrees he's bad news. Ra's has sent people to kill him time and again. If they're lucky, they just don't find Darhk at all."

"And if they do?" Sara could guess the answer.

"They die." Laurel said flatly. "Twice, a team was sent to kill Darhk, while I was thereThe first time, they didn't find him. The second time, of the five sent, some of the best killers in the league, only one survived long enough to be taken back to Nanda Parbat. And he still died a few days later from complications of his injuries."

"I wasn't there, but it's said Darhk killed the other four himself." Laurel once more made a humorless laughing sound. "Like I said, they say a lot of things. He's basically... the boogeyman, for the League."

"If he's so scary... I mean..." Sara trailed off. "Nyssa said that he was wary of crossing you and Oliver. I mean... if he is that much better than even some of the League's best people..."

"If the stories are true, he could probably wipe the floor with Oliver and me," Laurel answered, flatly. "Even half true, probably. If we got the drop on him, or got lucky somehow... maybe. But... he has his whole army of minions. Like Ra's, he prefers to work behind the scenes as much as possible. And Oliver and I have both proven how good we are at dealing with minions." Laurel's laugh this time, small and quiet though it was.

Sara grinned "That you have." She felt a sudden flash of brain fog and blinked repeatedly, everything blurring for a second. "I should head home, before I have to crash on your couch."

"We do have a guest bedroom here..." Laurel trailed off. "You saw it during the housewarming party."

"I did. And that bed looks like it cost as much as I make in two months."

"It came with the penthouse." Laurel flushed a little. "We got this place for the privacy, the building's very discreet and secure."

"I don't begrudge you and Oliver having money, Laurel. But I am still stuck at a low-grade Detective's salary. And if I slept in your guest bed, I'd be ruined for mine, forever."

"I could buy you a better bed, Sara," Laurel offered, earnestly. "Not even one like ones here... they are a bit much," she admitted. "But one that isn't... well, as bad as yours."

"No thank you," Sara waved her sister off, "I'm good."

"Is this a pride thing?" Laurel set her tea down again.

"It's a cop thing, you wouldn't get it. If we started sleeping on comfortable beds, we'd be terrible cops." Sara quoted her training officer. "Knowing what waits us when we get home is what keeps us at the station."

"I thought it was battery acid coffee that kept you all there."

"It has its charms, once you drink enough that it kills your taste buds," Sara shot back. Then she slapped the side of her face lightly. "I'll see what I can do when I get into the precinct tomorrow- later today," Sara corrected. "If I find a lead on the device, I'll let you know."

Merlyn Manor, Starling City

November 13th, 2013

After the Undertaking, Tommy had handed Merlyn Manor over to housing the homeless refugees and serving as a center for helping relocate them, provide food, clothing and healthcare, and anything else he could manage. The estate had sprung up a small tent village that had - thanks to FEMA - been converted to having a bunch of prefab structures fairly quickly.

The extensive grounds, then, had become home to people that couldn't fit inside the large manor.

In the months since, a good chunk of those homeless had found new homes, or moved from Starling to try and start a new life elsewhere, but plenty still lived in the space.

Tommy had already made plans to sell the property and most things in it, except for a few pieces of art that had sentimental value to him - things his mother had liked, mostly - and donate the proceeds to the victims of the Undertaking.

Only once the refugees had been fully relocated elsewhere, of course.

Until then, Tommy had refrained from showing his face, given how unpopular he was with anyone who had been a resident of the Glades.

At least, he'd refrained until now.

Sara watched Tommy get out of his car, a man from the state police getting out of the driver's seat. With the threats against his life (mostly) dropping off, most of the people assigned to guard him had been weaned away, but there was still at least one officer of the state police hand

She'd told Tommy to come around the back entrance, where less people were likely to be. So far, no one was here to see him.

Tommy looked around, clearly nervous and uncomfortable in his current position. "What's this about?" He asked, bluntly, and Sara could practically feel how much he wanted to get away from the manor.

"Can I have a moment away from your minder?" She looked at the officer. She recognized him - Richardson, his name was. "You've let me through to his residential suite enough times, Richardson."

"You're good," Richardson nodded. "But did you have to have him come here?"

"I did, I need to ask him about something here." Sara explained. They walked along the back 'porch' area, though calling it a porch felt grossly inadequate.

Merlyn kept this place just as rich and ostentatious as the Queens kept their place, but Queen Manor at least... felt like a home. Like people lived and loved there.

Any time Sara had visited Tommy here - few and far between as such times had been - everywhere outside of Tommy's rooms had a certain antiseptic, sterilized quality to it. Like a house on display for realtors, or something.

"So... what's the big problem?" Tommy asked once they were out of Richardson's earshot. "Has to be a problem, or you'd never ask me to come here of all places." His tone wasn't quite an angry hiss, but he was making his displeasure with the situation quite clear.

"It's... related to Oliver and Laurel's extracurriculars," Sara muttered. Tommy's expression closed off entirely, and Sara went on, quickly, "I know you don't want to talk about them or what they do, and I'd respect that if something pretty serious wasn't going on."

"This is Starling. Something serious has been going on nonstop for a while." Tommy pointed out, his comment sarcastic, but his tone alarmingly flat.

"Not as serious as there being a third one of those devices your dad used to destroy the Glades." Sara countered deadpan. "And I'm pretty sure it's hidden somewhere here in the Manor."

That broke through Tommy's raised walls, and he reeled back physically, taking a step away from her in shock, swaying a bit.

"You - there's - he-" The words quickly gave way to just an incoherent strangled sound of terrified dismay, Tommy's mouth closed as he made it.

"Long story shorter - when your dad vanished for two years a few months after your mom died, he joined up with a group. They're the ones who taught him how to kill. Even after he left, he's still sort of their mess to clean up, so when they got wind of a third Markov Device, they started looking for it. They're... not good people, but the Undertaking was too far gone for them." She put a hand on his shoulder lightly, "With me so far?"

Tommy nodded, slowly, swallowing.

"They reached out to Laurel. She hasn't told me everything that happened on the island, but she did meet them at some point." Sara wasn't going to spill the full details of what had happened to Laurel. Not without her permission. But she didn't want to lie to Tommy either, so she went with the kind of technically true answer that she hated when she was the one getting it in an interrogation.

"But they're not the only ones looking for it. Again, there's a lot I don't know," also true, also misleading. Laurel, Oliver, Diggle and Felicity are the only people I can be mostly honest with in my life right now.

She'd call that a sobering thought, but it was really more the kind of thought that could drive a woman to drink.

"But some other group, arms dealers, want it. To sell it, use it, reverse-engineer it, who knows. So far, neither group has been willing to risk provoking Laurel and Oliver by coming to Starling, in case it's somewhere else."

"But if it was... they'd have found it by now," Tommy said slowly after swallowing again. Sara nodded. "And you think it's here?"

"I've been doing some digging. And every still intact property that your dad owned, even through a shell company within a whole Russian Nesting Doll of shell companies, has been searched thoroughly for evidence, complete with walls being ripped out in some cases... except here."

"Here?" Tommy frowned. "That makes no sense."

"You handed it over for housing the refugees from the Glades so quickly and the SCPD and FBI had already decided that your dad ran everything through his offices at Merlyn Global... there wasn't time to do a top to bottom search of the whole place."

Sara shrugged, "That's my theory, then. Which is why we're here. We need to figure out where the hell your dad hid it."

"Dad had this place built from the ground up when he moved to Starling with mom." Tommy said, "He could have hidden all sorts of secret places around the house."

"Would he have, though?" Sara asked softly. "I mean, before your mom died... he wasn't-"

"A sociopath?" Tommy offered, the words bleeding with repressed anger. "A monster? A murderer? A delusional idiot? Take your pick, because believe me, I've said all of them and more to him, since he died."

Tommy dropped his head into his hands for a moment, pulling them down his face as he let out a long exhale.

"That's a good point." Tommy admitted. "So it's probably not in some secret compartment-" his eyes widened. "Follow me." He started walking away, and Sara followed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Richardson following at a careful distance, not get any closer, but still keeping an eye on them.

"Where are you-" Sara started, but Tommy held up a finger to shush her and kept walking, moving to the corner of the building and turning around.

Unfortunately, a couple teenagers were up ahead, loitering, talking quietly. And looking in their direction, though by sheer coincidence, it seemed.

"Hey - ain't that Tommy Merlyn?" One of the teens asked his friend.

"Yeah, I think it is." Sara didn't like the way that one said it, with a bit of menace to the comment. "What the hell are you doing here? You gonna kick us out the way your dad kicked us out of the Glades?" The one talking took a few steps towards them, but Sara moved between Tommy and the kids, taking out her badge.

"SCPD, don't get too close."

"Protecting the murderer's kid. Classic cop," the loudmouth snarled. "Get out of the way, lady-"

"Is this some creative way to get me to arrest you?" Sara asked, pulling her jacket back a bit to reveal the cuffs at her belt. "I've run into a few people who had a thing for cops and cuffs."

"Come on, back off," the third teen chimed in. "Thanks to this guy, givin' up all his money" he gestured at Merlyn, "Uncle Luis got a new job with all the rebuilding. And even Blood says he's... you know, not that bad." Sara was a little surprised this kid knew what Alderman Blood had to say about anything, but Sebastian Blood did have quite the following among the displaced Glades refugees.

"The rich bastard who's never worked a day in his life throws some money at us and that's supposed to make my brother dying okay!?" The loudmouth snarled.

"No, it's not," Tommy said, moving to stand next to Sara, ignoring her when she tried to get him to move back behind her. "Nothing I could do could make that okay. But I'm not my dad, and I didn't kill your brother." The loudmouth scoffed, but Tommy went on. "Look at it this way - right now, I die, this whole place goes into receivership, and you really do get kicked out."

"You can look at it however you want, but right now, you're going to get out of the way," Sara gestured off to the side with her hand.

Loudmouth stared at her, but Sara met his gaze, raising one eyebrow. After a long moment, he blinked, stepping away.

"You're not worth going to prison over," he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively, moving off with his friends.

"Well... that was fun," Tommy inhaled. He looked back to Richardson. "It's all good," He raised his voice.

"So I saw," the officer nodded. "Detective Lance seemed to have it in hand."

"So where are we going?" Sara asked Tommy quietly, as they started walking again.

"What are you going to do if it's there?" Tommy asked. "You can't just turn it in to the cops."

"I was going to tell Laurel, let her destroy it. It's a pretty fragile piece of machinery when it's not turned on." She shook her head, "I mean, you can't turn it in either." Tommy stopped when they reached the garage door, a keypad blocking entry. Tommy typed in a six digit code and the door rolled open.

"There's an underground part of the garage, where dad kept the really valuable cars he didn't drive," Tommy explained, moving to the far end of the room, ignoring the several fancy cars still there, reaching a lift in the floor, bit enough for a car to be on. He walked past it and opened another door, revealing stairs.

"Sara and I need a moment, stay up here please?" Tommy asked Richardson, and after a long moment of silence, the officer nodded. Together, they both went down.

"If I was trying to hide something, I'd do it here. Dad almost never took anyone down here. I went down here once when I was 17, and it was the only time dad ever bothered to punish me." Tommy explained. He flicked on lights, watching the large, open space get illuminated as the lights flickered on

There were another half-dozen cars down here, all looking quite vintage. Sara couldn't tell anything beyond that, but she had to assume they were worth a lot.

Eyes darting over the space, they lighted on a small sliding door in the wall on the closer wall, at a right angle from them. There was a keypad next to it.

"There?"

Tommy frowned, "...no idea. I don't think I've ever seen inside there. I don't know the keypad either." He walked up to it.

Sara stood next to Tommy, watching Tommy enter in his mother's birthday, to an angry negative beeping from the keypad.

No... he wouldn't use her birthday...

"I've got it." Sara entered in a six digit date. The day, month and year Rebecca Merlyn died. Sure enough, the small door slid upwards slowly. "That's what this was always about for him."

"Right..." Tommy nodded, breath hitching as the small closet-like space was revealed.

Sara's own breath caught. It does not look like something that could kill hundreds of people.

Or worse.

"Well, I guess I know what Laurel is doing tonight."