Slipping out into the dank alley outside, Oliver found himself avoiding Diggle and the Police, before wandering off into the depths of Starling's streets.

While he intended to return home before the night turned to morning – he definitely needed to talk to Thea about her more senseless habits – he felt that he needed to blow off some steam.

Killing the drug dealer had sent a rush of adrenaline and Mirakuru in his system; more than usual, and Oliver did not know whether to blame his loss of control on the emotions that had recently flooded his system because of his return home, on the personal nature of the killing, or because of the extended period of time Oliver had undergone without killing prior.

But regardless of the cause, Oliver could not afford to lose control or lose his sanity, and the best way for him to ensure he wasn't going to go on a mass murdering spree was to isolate himself – this would prove to be more of a challenge in Starling City than it was on Lian Yu or under the thumb of Amanda Waller, or even in Russia with the Bratva.

However Oliver was glad that he had the foresight to set up the foundry immediately after returning home, at least he had one place to retreat too when the Mirakuru threatened his sanity and control.

Wandering quickly through the streets, sometimes jumping on the roof tops, or jogging through the back alleys. Oliver managed to reach the warehouse in under thirty minutes.

He breathed heavily despite barely exerting his physical capabilities, the mental strain was crushing.

He ignored the stairs, jumping straight onto the floor.

Shedding his blazer and shirt as he walked through the tables of technology and weaponry, barely keeping his body from breaking out into a desperate run.

Moving past his usual sparring equipment, knowing that he did not have enough control to use basic metals or wood which easily broke in his Mirakuru enhanced hands.

He moved into the darkness, feeling along the metal reinforced concrete wall until he reached a large metal switch.

Bright white light flooded into the section of the underground room revealing an object that would not be out of place in a futuristic sci-fi movie.

It was, essentially, a glass box.

It had four clear walls of three-inch thick glass and was standing at least a metre free from the dank walls. Metal reinforced the edges of the glass.

The ceiling of the box was also made of glass, with a circular metal sealed hatch centred by the closest glass wall.

Oliver kicked off his shoes and socks before picking up a metal ladder, sliding it into place.

He ignored the protests of Slade behind him – telling that he did not need to do this, that it wouldn't help him, that it would only make it worse.

Climbing quickly, fingers trembling.

His blood pumping with horrific bloodlust, addictive adrenaline, and a sickening pleasure.

Escape. His mind and body hissed.

Stay. The Mirakuru implored. Stay in the Darkness where you need no conscious, no loyalty, no friends, no family. No one but us.

The rusted metal squealed in protest as Oliver tugged on the cyclical ring that held the seal in place.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for a method that he had not used for many years.

Oliver plunged into the depths, bubbles twisting around him in a corona.

…/|\...

Sitting on the cold metal floor of his glass cage, Oliver was vaguely aware of the dangerous period of time that had passed.

Ordinary men would have long drowned, and even those with special training and practice would have been unable to resist the temptation to breathe after so long.

But he was no ordinary man, and the Mirakuru was working overtime to keep him alive is such a hostile environment.

He knew that when he surfaced, the Mirakuru would barely be able to heal a paper-cut, let alone attack his mind with hallucinogenic visions and twisted darkness.

Finally Oliver moved into a crouch, pushing off from the floor he reached the hatch and pulled his body out of the water.

Sweet, sweet air filled his lungs as water droplets rolled over his bare muscled skin and onto the glass.

The first breath was always the easiest.

He gasped as his punished body made itself known.

The weight of the many tonnes of water had strained his muscles, and the lack of air stressed his lungs.

His heart beat unhealthily fast as it tried to compensate his blood from the lack of oxygen.

His hands were trembling once more as he descended.

He allowed himself to lay on the concrete floor, waiting for his body to recover somewhat.

While he was tempted to stumble to the cot that he kept in the Foundry and spend the night in the quiet darkness of his main sanctuary and base, he knew that his family would likely start a public manhunt if he did not return home soon.

He shed the rest of his wet clothing before drying himself with a white towel that he usually used to clean his body of sweat.

Quickly changing into a simple green hoodie, dark jeans, leather gloves and black boots; he automatically strapped a knife to his thigh, slid another into his boots, and finally holstered a gun in the waistband of his jeans.

He usually would not have bothered with so many of the weapons but he was feeling edgy without the Mirakuru at full strength, and the Glades was not a desirable place to walk alone at night.

He would prefer to take his bow, or even a sword but they were both unique weapons that would draw unwanted attention, and far too balky to easily conceal.

It would not do for anyone to recognise Oliver Queen using a bow or sword.

As he moved out of the warehouse and into the shadowy night, he sighed quietly.

The only problem with the extreme technique that he had used temporary occupy the Mirakuru was the silence that came with it.

He would not have his ghostly brotherly companion to speak to for a few days.

…/|\...

Oliver jogged through the streets of Starling City, marvelling at how quiet the world was at this late hour when he no longer had the Mirakuru to enhance his senses.

The night air was almost as frigid as the water had been against his skin, but he was unbothered as it was not nearly as cold as the icy nights on Lian Yu that he had suffered for years.

As he neared the edges of the city he heard a scream, a familiar scream.

Laurel.

Oliver immediately scaled the nearby wall so that he could discern where she was and what was happening.

His eyes zeroed in on a head of long luscious brown locks surrounded by four roughly dressed men.

It only took moments for Oliver to deduce that this was not the average mugging, that the only weapons were rudimentary knifes and one cheap gun, and that they were a low threat to him but a high threat to Laurel, even with her mace spray and basic defence skills.

Pulling his hood up over his face, Oliver withdrew his knife from his belt sheath – while he could have used his gun, however it was more easily traced and was loud; Oliver preferred to settle this reasonably quietly, without interruptions by nosy neighbours – and jumped.

He landed next to the outstretched arm holding the gun.

He grabbed the man's wrist in his free hand, breaking it in one move, letting the gun drop to the dirty paved ground.

The gunman cried in pain, alerting the other three thugs.

The closest one charged, slashing wildly with his knife, with no concern for his friend. Oliver twisted the gunman's body to use as a shield.

The third thug had also advanced but his knife was held more carefully. Oliver lashed out, pushing the gunman towards his knife waving friend, before kicking the third man in the chest forcing him onto the ground.

"Stop or I'll kill her."

The fourth man had a picked up his friend's gun and was holding it to Laurel's head. Oliver lowered his hands.

The former gunman lay on the ground moaning, the second and third men had recovered their stance and were now flanking him wearily.

"Put the knife down."

Oliver slowly moved as if to place the knife on the ground.

He looked closely at the two men flanking him – they were slow and clumsy, relying constantly on the risk their weapons possessed than on any real skill – not much of a threat.

The man with the gun however was looking a little trigger happy, and Oliver knew that if he truly dropped his weapon, Laurel would end up with a bullet in her skull.

He needed to do something now.

In an instant Oliver threw the knife with unerring accuracy into the man's neck. Oliver knew that he could not let the other two men advance on him for they had the advantage in close combat with their knives.

He swayed his body back to avoid the left brute's knife before hooking his foot onto the man's leg, destabilising his balance, forcing him onto the ground.

As the man fell, Oliver grabbed the knife and twisted to block the final thug's wild slash.

Quickly Oliver sidestepped another frenzied jab.

He now stood behind the man, and on instinct reached forward and slit the man's throat.

Vaguely Oliver could hear Laurel screaming in the background out of fear and shock. He ignored her and concentrated on the only man left who was neither dead nor unconscious.

"Who sent you?" He asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to be recognised.

The man said nothing.

Oliver lifted the knife and plunged it into the man's knee with painful precision. He screamed, his eyes rolling back, unused to such sudden violent professionally-inflicted pain.

"Who sent you?" He repeated in that same soft dangerous tone.

The man still did not talk.

Oliver twisted the knife.

He did not relish the screams like he would under the influence of Mirakuru however.

While he was deadly serious about causing the man pain, it was only for the safety of Laurel, not for his own twisted pleasure.

"You have another leg." He commented almost idly.

"Alright, alright. It was Adam Hunt. He doesn't like how the Lance bitch is dragging him through court. He wanted us to shut her up." The words tumbled out messily.

Oliver's mouth twisted in disgust, both at the snivelling man before him and the equally pathetic man who had ordered out such a clumsy attack.

"You will testify against Adam Hunt in court. You will tell the police how he ordered this attack."

"He will kill me." He whimpered pitifully.

"He is not your concern right now."

With that last threat Oliver punched the man into unconsciousness, letting the limp body sprawl onto the ground.

He was confident that the coward would do as he asked and Adam Hunt would be jailed, and Laurel would be safe.

"Who are you?"

Oliver noticed the tears running down Laurel's face and was suddenly thankful that the darkness of the night and the shadow cast by his hood has concealed him

"A concerned citizen." He growled in an animalistic tone to cover the familiarity of his voice.

Laurel half laughed hysterically, "Ordinary citizens aren't proficient killers."

"No but I have never been ordinary." He answered hesitantly.

Oliver could see that Laurel was fighting the urge to pick up the gun at her feet and point it at him.

Despite saving her life, Laurel was ridged in her belief that the law was always right. And killing and interrogating men, even to save another's life, was against the precious law that she held in such high regard.

"The police will be here in a minute." Laurel said, showing her phone screen which was held limply in her right hand.

"Good." Oliver kicked the thug on the ground at his feet, "This one has kindly agreed to testify against Adam Hunt."

Her eyes widened in surprise, "Hunt ordered this attack?"

"It appear so. You really should be more careful. Men like Adam Hunt don't appreciate lawyers – and that is even when they are paying them."

A moment of quiet silence was broken by police sirens whirring only streets away.

Laurel automatically turned towards the sound, when she looked back she was alone with the dead and unconscious bodies of her would-be killers.