The address Leo Mueller had set up shop in was in one of the more derelict and abandoned areas of the infamous Projects of Chicago. By the time Laurel arrived at the nearest rooftop, Mueller was already in the process of conducting another arms deal with one of the local gangs. Considering the already relatively high crime rate in the city, throwing in military-grade weaponry into the mix was sure to be a recipe for disaster. It was just as well that Laurel was here to make sure it wouldn't happen.
It was about half an hour before the negotiations finished and the trade was about to start. Before a single gun could be exchanged, Black Canary dropped down from above and took everyone out with a powerful, if controlled Canary Cry. The sonic energy was unexpected, and it wasn't long before they were all disoriented. Laurel quickly darted through and knocked everyone out, leaving only Mueller semi-conscious. After restraining them using some nearby rope, far away from the guns, she began interrogating her target.
"Hello, Mr. Mueller," she said coyly, going down to one knee so they could speak face-to-face. "I have some questions for you."
He tried to spit in her face — Laurel deftly dodged before he could. "Now that's not nice," she scolded him. "I just wanted to ask you about a few things."
"I will tell you nothing!" Mueller spat out, his German accent thick, his voice strong.
"Really? Not even about whoever is blackmailing you?"
That got through to him. The man paled and began trembling. "I do not know what you are talking about," he insisted. "Nobody is blackmailing me. I am an arms dealer — nobody has the courage to do so."
Laurel smirked. "Are you sure? I guess that means me finding your name on a certain little List from Starling City is just a coincidence, right?"
Mueller, if possible, paled even further. He almost looked ready to have a panic attack. It was satisfying almost as much as it was concerning. Whoever was behind the List clearly terrified him, and that in itself was not a good sign. Just what exactly had Robert gotten into before he died?
"Come on. Just give me something. We're all the way in Chicago — nobody's going to know."
"You don't know that," Mueller said, shivering.
"Think of it this way — you tell me, I take care of it, you're off the hook for good. They'll never bother you again. Isn't that something? You'll finally be home free."
The arms dealer swallowed. Laurel leaned in, just a little closer. "Come on. Just a name or two. That's all it takes."
She waited patiently, keeping that soft, comforting if slightly smug expression on. Finally, after a minute or so, he broke.
"Tempest," he said, almost too quietly.
Laurel tilted her head, pulling back in slight confusion to look down directly at Mueller. "Tempest? What's that?" The only thing that came to mind with that word was the play by Shakespeare.
Mueller gulped again and opened his mouth to answer… only to collapse dead from a knife in his eye. The vigilante jumped back at the sight, shocked, before turning around and drawing her quarter staff, eyes darting around the area trying to find the assailant. How had they managed to bypass her senses? She had been drilled in keeping a keen awareness of her surroundings from the very moment she first stepped foot on Lian Yu, even more so when she joined the League. Very little got past Laurel these days.
Finally, she spotted the responsible party — a fleeing shadow. Laurel didn't hesitate to follow, speeding down the alley as fast as she could to catch up. "Stop!" she shouted. "Stop!"
Eventually, the shadow did as they closed in on a dead-end. Laurel stopped alongside them and fell into a stance. "Alright, I don't know who you are, but you just made a big mistake. Either stand down now or I will have no issues using this little beauty against you." She twirled her quarterstaff to punctuate her statement.
"Oh, you wouldn't want that, Little Bird," a feminine voice replied, somewhat amused.
Little Bird? The vigilante scowled. "Come out, now!"
There was a beat, and then the shadow complied, stepping into the light to reveal a woman of Chinese Descent, about a decade or so older than Laurel. She had long black hair, dark eyes, and a lightly-tanned complexion. Her outfit consisted of a red qipao shirt, black pants, black combat boots, and a black trenchcoat, all of which did little to hide her svelte, yet muscular physique. It made for an intimidating appearance, especially coupled with the look in her eyes. The moment her gaze fell upon Laurel, the younger woman felt as if she was being dissected alive, laid bare, all for this woman to see.
Laurel did her best to hide how unnerved she was feeling. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled. "Come, and find out," she replied, falling into a fierce stance.
It was an invitation, Laurel didn't hesitate to take. She burst forward, seeking to end this fight quickly. Whoever this woman was, she was dangerous, and Laurel had a feeling if she gave her an inch she'd take a mile. The moment she was close enough, she swung several fast, powerful, and precise strikes, each aimed at the woman's head.
Only for each of them to be parried, quite easily. Undeterred, Laurel went after the body, but the woman deflected the blows again. Suddenly, she caught Laurel's quarterstaff on the last swing, and pulled, elbowing Laurel in the gut before disarming her completely of the weapon. Laurel grabbed her midsection in pain, glaring up at her opponent. The other woman merely smiled and beckoned her over again.
Laurel charged once more, opting for hand-to-hand — her specialty. She struck with everything — her fists, her forearms, her knees, her legs. All swift, bruising attacks that would put even the mightiest warriors on the defensive. But not this woman. No, just like with her quarterstaff, not a single one pierced her defenses. Laurel might as well be flailing at her like a useless child.
Okay. It looks like martial arts aren't going to cut it, Laurel noted, breathing hard as she backed away for a break. She opened her mouth and prepared to scream.
Only for gag as the woman struck her hard in the chest, followed by a chop to the throat. "Oh no," her opponent taunted. "None of that, Little Bird."
Shit! My Cry! That was her best shot at winning this fight. Laurel grabbed her chest and began massaging her throat as she glared. The woman arched an eyebrow and smirked. "Well then, Black Canary, you no longer have access to your little song. Are you going to give up?"
That just caused Laurel to snarl in response. She loosened her shoulders before flying forward, something her opponent welcomed with a wide grin. There was no need to hold back anymore, Laurel gave it everything she had. Every single move she had ever been taught, every single inch of fighting knowledge that she had absorbed these past four and a half years, she utilized, hoping to turn the tides of this battle. Everything she had.
But it wasn't enough. She had an answer for everything. Nothing Laurel did surprised her, caught her off guard, even so much as ruffled her hair. This woman, whoever she was, was in an entirely different league from just about every fighter Laurel knew, from Ivo's wild pirates up to Ra's al Ghul himself. Laurel was completely outclassed in every way imaginable. Even so, she refused to give up.
On and on it went, until her last breath. Laurel collapsed to her knees, hands on the ground. Her entire body was screaming with pain. She was trying to draw up the last reserves of strength she had left, but it just wasn't coming. A pair of boots walked towards her, coming into view, and Laurel glared up at the woman who had done this to her in hatred. The woman smiled down at her, sharp, and crouched down, fingering Laurel's jaw before pinching her chin.
"You have potential, Little Bird," she declared. "Colored me impressed. Rest now, and we shall speak again very soon."
With that, she jabbed Laurel's shoulder in several places with two fingers. Almost immediately, Laurel's body went slack and she felt herself unwillingly falling into unconsciousness. The last thing she saw before that familiar darkness claimed her was the woman's face.
And then… nothing.
Starling City
Queen Consolidated had become something of a place of comfort these past few years, a thought Oliver never once considered would ever cross his mind. Despite his resolve to make something of himself and become worthy of one day taking over the company, Oliver hadn't originally intended to become so heavily involved with QC so early on, but his mother had suggested he join her in her sessions with Walter as he personally informed them about the ongoings of the company, their triumphs, and their failures. Not just to help ease him into the life of a businessman, but also as his privilege as QC's majority stakeholder.
That decision had led to his internship and eventual apprenticeship with the older man, something that Oliver had considered an unexpected blessing. Walter was a kind, attentive mentor and the two of them had only grown closer over the years. He almost felt like a member of the family at times, and Oliver greatly enjoyed his company, even looking forward to their lessons together.
Now, however, he found himself dreading his upcoming meeting with Walter. Not because of the man himself, but rather for the answers he might have. Answers that Oliver feared more than anything else.
"Hello, Oliver," Walter greeted him warmly, gesturing for him to sit. They were in the man's office, and Oliver had taken advantage of Walter's 'open door' policy for him to visit. "It's good to see you, though might I ask why you're here? Last I checked, we weren't supposed to have another session until this Friday."
Oliver swallowed. "Something happened at school today, while I was picking up my papers. I was confronted by a former student at the university: Teddy Reston. His dad used to work at the old steel mill before my dad shut it down."
Walter's eyebrows raised a bit before the realization set in. He sighed. "I take it he accosted you over his family being cheated out of their rightful pensions and severance packages?"
The admission was like a punch in the gut. "Dad really did do it then?" Oliver whispered, almost feeling like he couldn't breathe.
"Unfortunately, and I confess that some of the blame falls on me," his mentor admitted. "I'm the one who found the loophole in their contracts and informed your father about it. I never expected him to actually use it, however; Robert had always been generous when it came to employee severance packages and other post-employment benefits. He said such generosity is what helped make Queen Consolidated so profitable. In fact, at the time your father had dismissed the loophole, not even wanting to consider it. It wasn't until we got bombarded with complaints and lawsuits did I find out he had, in fact, used it."
"We had a huge row about it, and your father was cagey on why he changed his mind. All he said on the matter is that the Board made a complaint about the unnecessary loss of revenue and he had already spent more capital he had with them than he usually did that quarter, so he had opted not to fight with them when the matter came up."
His apprentice frowned. "That doesn't sound like Dad," Oliver noted.
Walter nodded. "I agree, but when I pressed him Robert refused to discuss the matter any further, so I dropped it and let it go."
"Is there any way we can still provide the severance packages now?"
"Queen Consolidated can, but it will involve a lot of red tape and likely take years. We can still take the initiative if you want, however, if you're that determined."
The young, burgeoning businessman thought it over for a moment and then shook his head. "I think a direct approach would be better," Oliver decided. "How much were the severance packages for all the workers in total?"
"Approximately twenty-five million — I can have the accounting department draw up the exact number," Walter told him. "Why do you ask?"
"That's only a little bit more than the trust I gave the Adachis and a relative drop in the bucket compared to the overall family fortune. If it's that much, then I can just pay out the severance packages directly. Do you think that's possible?"
The British man smiled. "We'll have to consult both the legal and finance departments, but I think it just might be."
When Moira's son returned home later that night, he was tense. The Queen matriarch could only frown when she saw it. Oliver had been in such a good mood yesterday, having gotten into his first choice for graduate school. What could have possibly brought him down?
The answer turned out to be a lot worse than she thought. Moira almost felt her heart stop when Oliver revealed his confrontation with the son of one of the old steelworkers. Oh, for all the things to come back to them now! It hadn't really been Robert's fault in the end, just Malcolm's ego forcing the matter, but even so, it was still her deceased husband that would be taking the blame, and she could only hope that this shocking information wouldn't inspire Oliver to look into his father's actions before his death a bit deeper.
"You don't mind me paying out the severance packages, Mom?" Oliver asked as the conversation pivoted to his most recent decision about the usage of the family fortune.
Moira adopted a tremulous smile. "No, sweetheart. It's a good chunk of money, sure, but we have plenty to spare, especially ever since you began diversifying our portfolio outside of the company at Walter's suggestion. Besides, I'm in no position to protest — your father put you in charge of the money, not me."
Her baby boy nodded, still a little deep in thought. "Mom, do you know why Dad chose not to fight the Board on this? Walter said something about spending too much 'capital' he had with them, whatever that meant."
He didn't fight them on this because Malcolm threw a hissy fit and wanted to pull a power play, Moira thought to herself even as she put up her best reluctant expression, which was really not a trial at all. "Your father was trying to pick his battles carefully, honey," she explained. "The Board is all about profit margins at the end of the day and they don't really care about the human element of things unless it affects the bottom line. Your father decided not to fight them on this in order to conserve what leverage he had over them for even more… disagreeable decisions down the line."
"That's just something you'll have to deal with as a businessman, honey. The ultimate goal of any corporation is to make as much of a profit as possible, and not everyone has the same vision on how to achieve that. You need to be prepared to compromise with people who may disagree with you on your ideology in order to achieve your goals."
Oliver swallowed and bobbed his head. Moira frowned — her baby boy was strong, but he had a gentle heart. One that bled for others when it was touched in just the right way. It was an advantage as much as it was a weakness, and she could only hope he would come to understand that as he grew older and compensate for it appropriately.
"Thanks, Mom. I'll remember that."
"Be sure you do, Oliver. Now come, Raisa is baking cookies for dessert tonight. Let's see if we can sneak one or two before dinner." Her boy's expression brightened at that, making him look younger than he had in years, and he quickly headed towards the direction of the kitchen. Moira watched him go with a smile, as she internally breathed out in relief.
Disaster averted, at least for now.
Chicago
Laurel woke up groggy and in agony, a sensation she hadn't had to experience in a while. Her head was bleating with pain, and she groaned as she did her best to pick herself up from where she was laying down. It took some time before she had the strength to do that because she was aching that badly. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around.
She was in a dojo of some sort, not quite opulently decorated but of a definite high quality. It was a little dark, the only light coming from various candles tastefully decorating a statue of some sort at the end of the building. The mat she was laying on was in the center of the room, and there were medical supplies surrounding her. It was only then that Laurel realized she had been stripped of her vigilante suit and weapons, and dressed in new clothes, something that nearly caused her to have a panic attack.
Bruised and slightly battered but alive, Laurel had no idea where she was and had no desire to stick around any longer than she had to. The young vigilante hissed as she tried to get her body to move, to get back up on her feet, and her only efforts only stopped when she heard the sound of a sliding door. Laurel turned toward the direction of the sound, and her eyes widened. "You!" she shouted.
The woman from last night smirked at her. "Slept well, Little Bird?"
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Laurel demanded.
Her smirk, if possible, grew even more smug. "I guess you've earned that much," she decided. "My name, if you must know, is Lady Shiva."
And just like that, Laurel froze.
What? "Y-You're Lady Shiva?" she asked, suddenly very, very scared.
Shiva nodded, still smirking. "Indeed, I am. I take it you've heard of me?"
Of course she had. Laurel doubted there was a major martial artist or special operative in the world who hadn't heard of Lady Shiva. To say nothing of the League, where the woman was practically a legend, deemed 'The Creator' and 'The Destroyer'. The most skilled martial artist in the world, a deadly assassin without par. The only warrior equal to if not greater than Ra's al Ghul himself.
To those who knew of her, Shiva was the boogeyman's boogeyman. Even before the League, Laurel had heard all sorts of stories — both Slade and Shado had spoken of the woman in haunting terms, repeating tales about her countless (and often bloody) feats with the kind of awe-filled horror that made Laurel feel ill. The stories about her, about how she hunted down some of the world's greatest martial arts masters to learn from them and then killed them to test her skills, they were the stuff of nightmares. And considering all Laurel had been through these past several years, that spoke much of the brutality Shiva was capable of.
"I have," Laurel answered, swallowing, trying her best not to seem too afraid. "What do you want with me?" she asked, this time in a far more respectful tone.
The master martial artist smiled. "I am interested in you, Little Bird," she replied. "Tell me — do you remember the assassin named Orphan? You defeated him in Gotham some months ago."
The Calculator's enforcer? "Yes, I remember. What about him?"
"His real name is David Cain, and Cain is a man who has… history with me. He is also a man not so easily vanquished. Yet, you managed it."
"And that interests you?"
"Indeed." Shiva's eyes glinted darkly. "I have been observing you since then, and I must admit, I am intrigued. For one so young and with only a paltry amount of training compared to the decades others have, you have quite an amount of potential, Little Bird."
It was a compliment. From anyone else, Laurel would be pleased. But from Lady Shiva? Something like that could only inspire dread. Laurel knew what happened to those who intrigued Shiva, the martial artists she found that had 'potential', and Laurel desperately did not want to end up like them. Because usually, they ended up dead.
Before they could continue the conversation, however, a ringtone echoed through the room. It took Laurel a moment to realize it was her burner. Shiva picked it up from where it lay next to her suit (nicely folded, with all her equipment stacked next to it), and handed it to her, completely calm.
"It is for you. I believe it is the Bat. Please tell him hello for me — it has been a while since we last saw each other," the older woman mused.
Laurel swallowed again. With no small amount of trepidation, she took the phone and accepted the call. She pulled it up next to her ear, and breathed in, then out.
Something told her that this was just the beginning of their time together. And right now, nothing in the world scared Laurel more than that.
Yup, Lady Shiva's here! Anybody who's read my Jason Todd stories knows how big of a fan of Shiva I am, and I couldn't resist including her in this story, since its main character is the Black Canary, after all. Shiva is going to be a recurring character throughout this and play a pivotal part in Laurel's development. A very important part, though I'll keep quiet on that front for now.
FYI, the thing about Shiva undressing Laurel while she was unconscious and changing her clothing? Completely in-character. She's not someone to care much about shame or personal space or anything like that.
Meanwhile, back in Starling, Oliver is getting a harsh crash course in the realities of business. Of course, not all of it was completely on Robert — Malcolm was indeed responsible for the decision to cheat the workers out of their compensation. Mostly because I feel that's more characteristic of him than it is of Robert as a businessman. How this affects Oliver later down the line? Well, you'll see.
Next Chapter: Laurel finds herself spending more time with Shiva than she'd like.