Chapter 79: Prometheus

"The two of you are actually going to watch the trial in person?" Quentin questioned, incredulity coloring his tone.

Laurel shrugged, fingering her cup of coffee. "Normally, we wouldn't — but Tommy hasn't been heard from in months and it looks like he won't be attending. And Oliver… Oliver wants to see Malcolm one last time. He obviously hasn't forgiven him, for trying to kill all those people, but Malcolm was his godfather. The Queens loved him like family. His parents can't face him, nor can his sister, so it's left to him." Mostly because he, more than anyone else, wants to make sure that Malcolm can't get away with his crimes.

While Laurel didn't know most of what happened during Oliver's ten years on that island (though she suspected some of it, due to her association with Nyssa), Oliver did tell her how he ended up on that island. Listening to the whole sordid situation, how Malcolm had emotionally blackmailed Robert and then literally blackmailed both Robert and Moira into complying with his plans, made Laurel sick to her stomach. While it was questionable whether or not Oliver's parents should face at least some penalty for aiding Malcolm in his plans (if unwillingly), Laurel wasn't going to lose any sleep over it. The Queens had already been punished enough, as far as she was concerned.

Quentin sighed, rubbing his temples. "If you two are sure, then I see no point in stopping you. Besides, it's not going to be much of a trial; his guilt is unmistakable with all the evidence we've gotten. The trial is mostly to determine whether it should be the death penalty or just life in prison."

"Because, even though he planned it and nearly succeeded, he failed and no one died — directly, in any case." Laurel surmised.

"Got it in one. If those machines had actually set off, it wouldn't be a question. But since they didn't…" Quentin shrugged. Laurel nodded; as a lawyer, such deliberations of morality in accordance to the law were familiar to her.

"Well, whatever the courts decide, it will be no less than he deserves."

Malcolm Merlyn didn't know whether to be grateful that he was finally out of that cell or to resent the fact that he was about to be paraded in front of the entire world as he was marched to his farce of a trial. He wasn't a fool; Amanda clearly had some powerful friends in some very powerful places, and no doubt left no stone unturned. With all the evidence out there and his own power over SCPD broken, there had to be only two verdicts left on the judge and jury's minds — life in prison, or death.

He'd obviously prefer the former over the latter, since there was still the slightest chance of escape, but he couldn't disregard the latter either. And if they did choose the death penalty as his punishment… well, all he could hope for after that is to delay the inevitable with whatever number of appeals the courts deigned to give him. If only so he could handle whatever business he had left.

Tommy and Oliver, obviously, were at the top of the list. There were so many things he wanted to say to his boys, so many things that he needed to pass on, and he might very well never get the chance. Tommy, perhaps, hated him, for having the stain of his sins besmirching his own name for the rest of his life. And Oliver… Oliver didn't know the truth, may never know the truth because Robert and Moira certainly wouldn't tell him. And Malcolm couldn't live with that, because Oliver deserved his inheritance as much as Tommy did. And he wouldn't be able to have it if he didn't know.

Then there were his traitorous former partners. Frank Chen was probably squirreled away in some remote part of the world with his daughter as payment for publicly selling him out, while the Queens were living the high life in Starling, having gotten off completely scot-free, with their names only coming up as friends to Walter Steele. Walter had been the one to take the blame for the Queens' actions during the early half of their tenure with Tempest, lauded as a martyr for trying to stop Malcolm's insanity only to be murdered for it.

The latter half had been spread out to the other members of Tempest, including Frank, and all of them except Frank and Malcolm were dead. They had either "committed suicide" or been "murdered" around the time of Malcolm's arrest. Unquestionably another move to ensure the Queens remained unblemished in exchange for their cooperation. With their deaths, there was no one left to point the finger except Malcolm himself, and nobody would believe him. Even if they did, all the Queens would have to do is point to the Gambit, and the entire world would sympathize with them. All they'd get for punishment would be slaps on the wrists.

It boiled him to know Robert and Moira were reaping the rewards of his downfall, and he swore that if he ever got out of these chains, he'd make them pay. The only snag was Oliver; even if Malcolm revealed himself to be his son's true father, there was a strong possibility that Oliver would remain attached to his mother and surrogate father regardless. He'd never stand for harm on their person, much less from Malcolm. He'd have to plan this act of revenge carefully.

Speaking of revenge, that left the last person on his list to deal with: Green Arrow. Immediately, Malcolm felt the fury he had for Frank and the Queens multiply tenfold as it turned towards the foolish brute who had denied him his chance to avenge Rebecca. That damnable vigilante… Malcolm had never hated anyone more in his entire life, not even the no-good thug that had taken his beloved wife away from him. If he ever got free, he would never rest until the man that had taken everything from him paid for his sins.

As Malcolm drowned in his bloody thoughts, his escort were keeping themselves alert with wide eyes and sharp ears. Even so, none of them could prepare for the sudden lurch that sent them all tumbling towards the back of the van. Malcom, restrained by several pairs of handcuffs, was barely able to use his fingers to grab the edges of the bench to steady himself.

"What the hell was that?" One officer asked as he righted himself.

Up at the front of the van, another officer found the answer to his question in one of the side mirrors. Behind them was a nondescript black SUV, that had somehow broken through the police escort and now had some sort of grappling hook device to attach themselves to the prison transport. He had the officer sitting next to him try to call for help while he drove, but found that both their phones and radios were jammed.

The van went through another lurch after the SUV went into a sudden stop, and this time the driver had no choice but to use the brakes himself so they wouldn't flip over. Almost immediately, all the officers grabbed their guns and readied themselves for a fight. The S.W.A.T. team at the back quickly put themselves into position, the two upfront readying themselves to jump outside while the two in the back aimed their guns at the door. The driver and his seatmate also grabbed their guns, readying themselves for a firefight.

Once again, the mirrors proved their value, as the driver saw the doors of the SUV snap open. Lightly tapping on the metal wall separating him from Malcolm and the S.W.A.T. team, he alerted them all to the impending attack, before unlocking the safety in his gun. Popping outside the window, he aimed it true and then—

Malcolm only sighed when he heard the brains of the two officers' up front were splattered on the sides of the van. Waiting boredly for the other shoe to drop, he was rewarded for his patience when the back doors were pulled off their hinges, and two of the S.W.A.T. team were killed before they could get even a shot off. The other two began firing, but it was a simple game of waiting for them to run out of bullets before they too were killed. As the dead bodies began to cool around him, Malcolm looked up to see his 'rescuers': men and women, all wearing black clothing and motorcycle helmets. Completely nondescript.

"So, who do you lot work for?" He asked idly.

Rather than answer, one of them put a burlap sack over his head and dragged him forward using the chain between his handcuffs. Malcolm sighed. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

"Ollie, what's going on?" Laurel asked worriedly as she entered the Foundry, setting down her bag on one of the chairs. She had been on her way to the courthouse when Oliver had abruptly called her, telling her to head to the Foundry immediately.

"Malcolm escaped." Oliver answered, angrily typing away at the computer. Laurel's eyes widened and she started cursing under her breath as her boyfriend pulled up a video feed up on the new plasma that they had set up a couple weeks back for video conferences. A prudent venture made after members of the League found themselves busy but still needed to conduct meetings with their teammates for more wide-spanning topics.

On-screen was a clearly unhappy Amanda. Laurel had never liked the woman, nor did other members of the League. Hell, Oliver and his siblings hated her, though they had yet to explain why. However, if there was anything they could agree on, is that Amanda ran a tight ship and was very efficient. The Justice League wouldn't run nearly as well without A.R.G.U.S.'s support. Something that Amanda was about to prove once again.

"What happened?" Oliver asked, voice terse and to the point.

"Merlyn was on-route to the courthouse, but before he could even enter the city, they were attacked." Amanda explained, equally unamused at the situation. "Thankfully, I had the foresight to implant a tracker on him before he left, so we have a possible location — however, it's only going to be the two of you. Kara cannot leave Central City until Barry has fully recuperated from Zoom's attack."

"Any clue as to who was responsible?" Laurel asked.

Amanda shook her head. "I've got people combing the crime scene now, but whoever did this was good; professionals, most likely. And since they didn't kill Merlyn on the spot—"

"—They want him for something." Laurel continued, having realized this almost as soon as she learned Malcolm had help in his escape. "So that means he's probably alive?"

"Probably. There's no guarantee, but if they put in the effort to take him somewhere instead of just killing him immediately, then they probably won't kill him until they get whatever they want from him."

Oliver nodded. "Send us the information. We'll start suiting up right now."

"Done and done." Amanda nodded back, before the feed flickered back into nothing.

A few hours later, Green Arrow and Black Canary were staking out an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town. They had already taken note of several guards setting up a perimeter out of the place, and the heat-seeking binoculars that had been gifted to them by Barry for missions like this indicated that there were more waiting inside for them. Not easy, but doable.

Communicating silently, the two blended into the night and silently approached the perimeter. Together, they made their way into the building, quietly knocking out each and every guard they came across before said guards knew what was even happening. It was a slow-going process, but if it avoided them detection, then it was worth it.

Finally, they made it into the main work room of the factory, which had been bolted close. On closer inspection, however, the bolting was proven to be a recent action — an extremely recent action. Green Arrow quickly busted the doors open with one of his exploding arrows, and he and Black Canary took a quick appraisal of the area, checking for any traps or guards. Finding none (a very suspicious thing), they approached the center of the room, where a man in an orange jumpsuit and a burlap sack over his head was sitting. His arms were wrenched backwards, bound by a pair of handcuffs.

The vigilantes slowly approached him, with Green Arrow ripping off the burlap sack in one quick motion once he was close enough. Canary's eyes widened while Arrow's narrowed once they saw the man. He was dead.

And he most assuredly was not Malcolm Merlyn.

"Surprised?"

The two whipped around, Arrow notching another arrow while Canary readied her tonfas. In front of them was another mask, one that was almost a dark reflection of the archer beside her. He was wearing a completely black body suit with a hood and pockets in front, containing throwing stars. On his back was a quiver of arrows and a bow, and a sword. His face was covered with an unnerving scarecrow-like mask; the longer she looked at it, the more Canary tightened her grip on her tonfas. Even with her relative inexperience to her partner, she could tell that the man in front of her was dangerous.

"Where is Malcolm Merlyn?" Green Arrow demanded gruffly, arrow still aimed at the mysterious intruder.

"Gone." The man answered promptly. "It was a bitch getting that tracker out of him without alerting Waller, but it was worth it to send him on his way with you all none the wiser."

"And would you mind telling us where you sent him?" Canary followed up, making it clear that her request really wasn't a request at all by brandishing one of her tonfas.

"No. See, my boss needs him, and like any good employee, I followed orders and didn't ask questions."

"That's too bad," Green Arrow commented steely, "That means you have no use to us."

The man shrugged. "I wouldn't say that, Al Sah-him."

Immediately, the atmosphere changed. Black Canary didn't know what the name meant or why the man called her partner that, but Green Arrow certainly did. An arrow flew, fast and true, aimed directly at the heart — and was cleaved in two by a throwing star, the broken pieces falling to the floor as Green Arrow dodged the star, causing it to lodge in one of the broken pieces of machinery scattered around the room.

"Now that wasn't nice." Mr. Scarecrow scolded them.

Green Arrow ignored the reprimand. "Who are you?" He demanded.

"I guess you can call me… Prometheus." The newly-christened Prometheus revealed. "And as for who I am, just consider me one of your many victims, Green Arrow."

"Prometheus," Black Canary let the name roll off her tongue, trying to get the feel of it. "The man who stole fire from the gods and gifted it to humanity. You think quite highly of yourself, don't you?"

Prometheus shrugged once more, and she could feel him smirking. "Don't we all? You two run around in Halloween costumes, serving your own brand of justice on low-lives and think it equal to society's. That takes arrogance equal, if not greater than my own. Don't think for one moment you have the moral high ground, Black Canary — the man beside you certainly doesn't, and you'll learn that soon enough."

"This isn't about moral high ground." Green Arrow snarled, cutting Canary off before she could retort. "Fact of the matter is, you kidnapped a wanted terrorist and absconded him to places unknown, killing several police officers along the way and damaging government property. You will be coming with us to answer for your crimes, and tell us who and where your boss is so we can find that bastard so he can answer his crimes. Even if we have to drag your bloodied and battered body to the nearest station ourselves. So, are we going to do this the easy way," and once more, he notched another arrow onto his bow, with Canary beside him tightening her stance, readying herself for combat, "or the hard way?"

Rather than answer, Prometheus responded with a smoke bomb. The vigilantes immediately covered their faces, backing away from the scene. By the time the smoke dissipated, Prometheus was gone.

Sorry this chapter took a while. Lack of inspiration, distractions, real life, and NaNoWriMo coming up have all kept it from coming out.

But hey, here's Prometheus! And yes, he is Adrian Chase, not Tommy. Tommy will be reappearing soon, that much I can promise you, but what state will he be in? You'll just have to wait and see!

You may also notice that Adrian is a little different here. A lot less menacing and obsessed with Oliver. There's a reason for that, and it will be explained in a couple of chapters.

Now, as for NaNoWriMo, there will be no updates for November as all my writing energies will be devoted to my fanfic idea. I'm not sure if this one will get off the ground (last year's certainly didn't, and probably won't for a long time), but I'm still writing it because I put a lot of effort into planning it, and the story itself has been stuck in my head for a long time. So this story will be on hiatus for November.

That's all I have to say for now. Please comment or review, flames will be ignored, constructive criticism welcome, and don't forget to update the TV Tropes page!