"Wow, this place is cool!" Jensen exclaimed as he limped into the foundry. Oliver marched past him, scowling. "Very hideout-y. I think it could use some sprucing up, though. More lighting, maybe rearrange the furniture, put your badass costume and bow on display… Dammit, these arrows are sharp! Hey, what's that bar thingy?"

"Salmon ladder," he grumbled as he pulled his suit from the duffel bag. "It's for working out."

Jensen awkwardly settled into Felicity's chair and faced the computers. "Oh, right. Chin-ups. Got it."

"They're not exactly chin-ups. It's harder than that."

"Well can you show me?" he asked, spinning around in the chair.

"No."

"Aw, please? I wanna see what it does—"

"Jensen, get Asher on the phone or I'll put an arrow in your neck."

"Yes, sir."

Once Asher answered, Jensen put it on speakerphone.

"I need to know the plan, Asher." Oliver demanded.

"We can't cover that until everyone gets here. That'll be a while."

Clenching his jaw, Oliver smacked the table. "What the hell am I supposed to do in the mean time?"

"You could show me what the salmon ladder is for." Jensen mumbled, receiving a silencing glare.

"I think you should watch your temper, Oliver." It was Felix. "We watched your back and gave you the alibi of being with Diggle while this whole thing goes down."

"I've been meaning to ask," Oliver said, leaning against the table. "Who's 'we?' Who will I have to thank when this is all over? Who's so eager to recruit my wife that they'd send in their own people to get her?"

"You didn't tell him?" Kyle interjected. "Dude, we're Furies. They want her so bad because she's a legacy. Felicity would be fourth gen on her dad's side if she joined."

"Woah, fuck." Jensen leaned forward into the phone. "You guys are Furies? That's the family business?"

"Yeah, I about shit my pants when they told me." said Clay.

"What the hell are Furies?" Oliver asked Jensen quietly.

"They hunt down assassins and kill them." Jensen answered loud enough for the others to hear. "Never bother with a trial. Operatives have a reputation of being psychopaths."

"We're not psychopaths, just incredibly fucking deadly." Kyle countered. "They find the deadliest soldiers in the military and sic 'em on professional assassins."

"Felicity's tiny dad who looks like an accountant is one of the deadliest soldiers in the military?" mused Jensen. He was ignored.

"It's why I was so against Felicity getting involved." explained Asher, sounding exhausted. "I wanted to protect my baby girl. But with what's happened and her relationship with a vigilante—"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it." Jensen blurted, cutting him off. "What I want to know is, why did Kyle say she'd be fourth generation on your side? You told us at the hospital that she's third generation because of you and Felix."

"It's not important."

Oliver's patience was wearing thin. "Dammit, Asher—"

"The Smoaks have been involved since it started." Asher answered loudly. "In World War II, certain soldiers were recruited with the specific task of assassinating Axis government officials. Ezra Smoak was one of them. He was a Jew who'd narrowly escaped the persecution; why would he say no? He died on a mission and left Bobeshi to raise my dad on her own. Then they recruited Abel because my grandpa was such a damn hero. By then the Furies specialized and started hunting assassins. My mom ended up getting killed by a car bomb because of his involvement when I was thirteen. My dad had to leave us with Bobeshi and disappear so we wouldn't be next. I probably wouldn't have joined if this mustachioed bastard behind me hadn't offered to tell me what happened to my dad in return. I'm not saying I regret it; I just want my baby safe."

After a moment to let it sink in, Jensen managed to speak. "Isn't Felicity a little too soft for that kind of work?"

"Oh, trust me; she'll be plenty dangerous once I'm done training her. Even then, her job won't be much different than the one she has with the Hood."

"That's slightly comforting," commented Oliver.

"The both of you: get ready and sit tight," announced Felix. Apparently he was sick of the chitchat. "I want us on our way as soon as backup arrives."

"Sir yes sir!" Jensen said with an emphatic salute as they hung up. Then he turned his attention towards Oliver. "So… Can you show me how to use the salmon ladder?"

Oliver didn't say anything: he just took Jensen's crutch and started carrying it all the way across the room.

"I need that," Jensen sighed, but his spirit remained unbroken. "Can you at least explain where you got the suit?" Oliver kept walking, but Jensen wouldn't shut up. "Why are your pants so tight? Do you even take the precaution of wearing a cup? Do you get really sweaty wearing so much leather? Since we'll be here a while, can I try on your suit—Put the bow down and I'll stop talking."

The Furies were a very small division: only three teams with five members each, and the director only sent the alpha and bravo teams. But Asher meant it when he said they'd be evenly matched: eleven total Furies plus four black ops and one very angry vigilante equaled the power of half a dozen triad members and nearly fourty mercenaries. Especially after Kyle blew a few to hell with some grenades.

Slade Wilson thought it was quite a show.

He'd been planning his revenge on Oliver Queen for the last five years, but that didn't mean he wasn't open to adjustments. Oliver's marriage to Felicity and news of their baby weren't a setback, but an opportunity. He watched and listened, trying to decide the when, where, and how they would be used to make Oliver suffer. Slade probably could've prevented the triad's kidnapping if he chose to, but knowing Furies would serve as Oliver's backup made it unlikely that Slade would lose his chance to kill him slowly. So he let things play out and looked for opportunities.

With his full mask and black combat attire, Slade looked like just another mercenary. When the fireworks had started, he slipped into the slaughter to observe from the shadows in the massive warehouse full of shipped goods and homicidal maniacs. The Furies were tearing people apart, as were the three other soldiers. Oliver was either shooting arrows or breaking necks. Some blonde chick in black was helping too by beating the shit out of people with a metal staff. No one seemed to know who she was, but Oliver's team looked happy to have her.

Of all the screams Slade heard, there was one in particular that intrigued him. He moved through the rows of goods stacked to the ceiling, far away from the fighting. As he reached the far wall, he saw a cage: it was built into the corner, probably meant for valuable goods like smuggled diamonds or drugs. But the only thing in there was Felicity Queen.

She couldn't see him; she was too distracted and he wasn't within her line of sight. Felicity sat on the hard concrete floor, breathing hard and trying not to scream too loudly. Her cheeks were tear-tracked and red from exertion.

"Please, not now! Not now, Baby Hood!" she whimpered. Then a contraction hit and she yelped.

Hmm. She wasn't due for another month. Slade wondered how this would play out.

As she pushed almost against her will, Slade ran through his options:

1. Kill her.

2. Kill the baby.

3. Kill both.

4. Leave both to kill later in a more creative fashion.

There was also the possibility that the baby would die from being too early, or that both would die from complications; giving birth alone on a dirty concrete floor with a battle raging a few hundred yards away certainly wasn't healthy.

Slade noted how much blood she was getting on her dress.

A few ear-splitting shrieks later, there was a slimy, bloody thing in Felicity's arms. Probably couldn't see it very well since her glasses were missing. Her finger went into its mouth to clear the airway, and suddenly it was crying.

In that moment, despite the blood and gore and pain and fear and danger, Felicity looked absolutely euphoric. Shaking, she took her coat and wrapped up her baby.

All the while, blood pooled on the floor beneath her. As the puddle grew, Felicity grew weak.

Slade broke the lock on the cage once she passed out. Option number one was looking needless. Let Oliver find his wife bled out. The baby, though… what to do, what to do…

He crouched down and scooped him up, mindful of the umbilical cord. The boy looked strong. Dozens of potential plans rushed through his mind—strangulation with the birth cord, a simple smothering, slice and dice, tossed in the harbor—but then he realized he could do so much better than that.

For one, he definitely wasn't going to let Oliver find his son's dead body. The uncertainty of whether he's dead or alive would be much more painful.

And why kill someone Oliver loves when he could corrupt him instead?

"Bad Moon Rising" by Mourning Ritual