Oliver strode through the halls, following the scent of the drug dealer that had sold his wares to Thea.

Maybe this will have an effect on his wayward sister, even though he did something similar more than two years ago when he had been in Starling under the employ of Amanda Waller.

Oliver grimaced as he realised that his unwanted shadow Diggle had reappeared, likely hoping to intercept him as he walked through the next corridor.

He turned around, slipping through a side door into an empty service corridor, following the scent parallel through the walls while checking to ensure no one was following him.

He could not afford to have any suspicion cast upon him, and while logically killing this dealer would not be particularly helpful to this goal, Oliver was beyond reason now.

The Mirakuru had attacked his moments of weakness and wasn't going to relinquish its hold until it was satisfied.

And there was always a warped satisfaction from a good kill.

Finally Oliver re-entered the main part of the building, spying his prey on the edge of the crowds.

He watched as the dealer moved outside with another girl, about Thea's age, clearly looking to sell some more of his merchandise.

Oliver edged around the room, keeping a low profile, and slipped into the cool night air quietly.

Like most city buildings, especially relatively low-lying ones like this one which barely rose above five floors, the architect had tried to maximise space while still making an aesthetically attractive façade.

This meant that while the back and front of the building were impressive expanses of glass to attract the eye of a viewer, the sides of the building rested uncomfortably close to those surrounding it.

In the barely legal space between, lay a dirty dank alley, walled by rough concrete, occasionally punctured by pathetic grimy windows, and the russet metal scaffolding of a rusty fire escape.

At one end lay an overflowing dumpster, and at the other the dealer and the girl were completing the transaction.

Oliver climbed silently up the nearby fire-escape, prowling in the shadows, unseen, waiting for the girl to leave – not out of compassion but simply because no one would question a dead drug dealer too closely, no matter the mysterious circumstances of death, but a dead young rich girl with him would gain far too much unwanted attention.

He watched as the girl, giggling, stumbled off out of the alley and back into the raging party.

Away from both him and his quarry.

Perfect.

Oliver bared his teeth and jumped down into the alley behind the target.

Slipped his arm around his neck and snapped it, in one smooth movement, with the grace that one came with confidence and constant practice.

"Hmmph…" Slade wasn't impressed – there was no drama, no challenge, no perverted fun – the Mirakuru was not happy with the easy quickness of the death.

Neither was Oliver.

He dragged the limp body over his shoulder and began to climb upwards using only one hand to hang onto the wall – it should have been impossible to balance and hold such weight at the same time while constantly moving faster than any ordinary man could – but the Mirakuru despite its flaws was still a scientific marvel, an appropriately named miracle.

Oliver slipped through an upper window, breaking the lock almost unknowingly with his unnatural strength.

He used his enhanced senses to ensure a route that would take him into the echelons of the building without being seen by people and security camera alike.

Standing above the rancorous crowd, Oliver's mouth twitched upwards. There were so many people in his sight, yet not one person saw him.

It was odd how no one ever seemed to look up.

With a single movement he hauled the body and threw it over the balcony in a parody of what he had done over two years ago.

Oliver slunk back into the shadows, the Mirakuru revelling in the horrified screams and the sickening retches, in the salty tears and the terrified pale faces.

Oliver slipped out back the way he came with a speed and grace that no man should be able to achieve.

He reached the window and jumped out, landing without even rolling for momentum, taking the four story drop effortlessly, slight cracks appearing in the concrete beneath his feet.

He slipped back into the room, still listening to and delighting in, the panic of the main room. Trying not to smile as he sees that Diggle noticed him immediately with a mix of annoyance and slight confusion.

He strode across the floor, half impressed that it was Tommy of all people whom had called the police. The waiters were ushering the party-goers out into the street and Oliver relished in the relative silence that came with their absence.

Oliver allowed himself to be swept out with Tommy and Diggle into a side room.

The manager was apologising profusely, as if it was his fault that a dead body had, quite literally, landed in the middle of the party.

After only minutes, Oliver could hear the police sirens whirring in their direction.

As they waited in silence; Tommy continued drinking, Diggle was watching him almost uncomfortably, and the manager had begun pacing while wringing his hands in a mixture of anxiety and dread.

Oliver had to repress a smile as he detected Detective Lance's heart and breathing patterns outside.

"Now this will be fun." Slade smirked, he was looking forward to tormenting Lance even more than Oliver was.

Lance strode into the room with a bitter sneer plastered on his face.

With the barest glance, Lance picked out Tommy and the sneer only seemed to deepen, "Oh, Mr. Merlyn, imagine my shock at seeing you here. Did you Roofie anyone special tonight?"

Tommy squirmed for several moments, and then Lance moved his attention to Oliver, "And Mr. Queen, I see you haven't changed at all. Less than a week back and already you're leaving dead bodies in your wake."

"Have you managed to identify the body or did you just march in here the moment you found out that we were here?" Oliver asked, knowing that the latter assumption was right having tracked Lance's movements from before he even stepped into the building.

Lance huffed before Hilton stuck his head into the room, asking for a word with his fellow Detective.

While everyone was distracted, Oliver moved out into the corridor so that he could talk to Slade without sounding insane.

Oliver laughed, allowing the Mirakuru to take hold, "How was that for a show?" He said slyly to Slade.

"Couldn't have been more dramatic." The ghost answered, not wanting to actually compliment Oliver, but undeniably pleased with the darkness spreading through Oliver's veins, "However it cannot happen in this way again. You have killed a drug dealer twice in that manner already in Starling city at a party connected to the Queens in some way, if you do it again-"

"It becomes a pattern." Oliver interrupted. "It won't happen again. Besides, now that the basics of the foundry have been set up, I will be able to have a real hunt."

"Good." Slade grunted. "Can't let you get out of practice, Kid."

Oliver tensed, hearing Diggle move into the corridor, finally noticing that his employer had moved out of his sight yet again.

"Something I can help you with, Sir?" Oliver cursed silently, he didn't really want to deal with anyone with the after-effects of the heightened Mirakuru that came with a good kill.

"I just was a second to myself." He said, not untruthfully.

"I would believe you, Mr Queen, if you weren't so full of crap."

Slade smiled, not a nice smile but rather a rictus of teeth in a twisted parody of happiness, "I like him."

Oliver said nothing, allowing Diggle to usher him back into the room.

When Lance finally re-entered the room with another sour look on his face, Oliver was more than prepared for anything that Lance might throw at him regarding the incident.

"The victim was a drug dealer. His neck was snapped with brute force before he was thrown off the balcony. Remind you of anything Merlyn?"

Tommy opened his mouth but Lance wasn't going to let him speak.

"My daughter is here, and so is the underage Miss Queen-"

"Detective Lance." Oliver interrupted, "I will not pretend to understand exactly what is going on here, but we have stayed to give statements. Not be subjected to your anger."

"What is going on here, Mr Queen. Is that this is the second time a dead drug dealer killed in the same manner has been found at a party organised by your dear buddy Merlyn within three years."

"Are you accusing me of murder?" Tommy spluttered.

Hilton, sensing that the accusation by Lance was based more on anger than reason intervened, "We aren't accusing you of anything, Mr Merlyn. Except that your parties are becoming hot spots of drug related activity, and this had led to murder."

Turning towards Lance, Hilton continued, "We have secured the building from roof to basement and found nothing and no one. Footage of security cameras have already been procured." And in a quieter tone that only Lance should have heard, "I've already checked personally – Merlyn was in clear view, Queen was outside – but he stepped inside too quickly to have been up on the balcony."

"Are you sure?"

"Unless he can run faster than Usain Bolt." Hilton replied somewhat sarcastically before continuing in that same quiet tone, "There is no way he could have killed the dealer."

Oliver heard Hilton and smirked knowing that this case would end up as one of the many unsolved files stored in the basement of the SCPD.

"It appears that you have everything you need, Detectives. If you don't mind we will be on our way – I assume that you know how to contact us."

Lance's eyes flashed in anger and hatred at Oliver's dismissive words, at this man who had so casually led his precious young daughter to her death, who was now acting so unaffected and undisturbed in the face of an unexpected violent death.

"Did you even try to save her?"

Oliver said nothing as Lance moved into his personal space, their faces only inches from each other. The cold dark nothingness of Oliver contrasting with the uncontrollably angry hatred of the Detective.

"Did you even try to save my daughter?"

Hilton intervened, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder pulling him away, "Come on, Quinten, Sara wouldn't want this."

Lance backed out of the room, and Oliver turned to Diggle, "Can you bring the car around the back?" It was phrased as a question but the tone invited no choice, "I don't think any of us need encounters with the paparazzi after this."

Diggle left without comment, but clearly suspicious of Oliver's motives – clearly already certain that Oliver was going to give him the slip – but having no real option but to get the car.

Tommy had his head in his hands, drowning the last of the alcohol in one desperate gulp, "I'm sorry. I can't believe that another party was ruined by some drug dealer from the Glades again."

"From the Glades?" Oliver frowned at the awfully specific reference to geography.

"Yeah – probably a gang war or something. Just wish that the dirty evil scum in the Glades kept their battles within their boundaries, and not cause misery for everyone else."

Oliver blinked at the deep bitterness of Tommy's tone, before remembering that Rebecca Merlyn had died in the Glades.

If Oliver was a different man he may have tried to comfort Tommy, explain to him that it was not his fault.

As it is Oliver struggled to keep quiet, struggling with the desire to spit at the feet of this man who presumed that evil came from a place rather than in the hearts of men. That there were probably invitees to this party who were dirtier than any of the Glades occupants.

"Evil is just a point of view." Slade drawled, "Not that your idiot friend would know anything about true darkness – real evil."

"He's not my friend." Oliver spat quietly back.

Tommy looked up confused, "What did you say?"

"Life isn't fair, my friend." Oliver added slyly with a twist of danger, "If I were you Tommy. I'd just be glad that you are alive."

Tommy stared at Oliver uncomfortably, feeling somehow threatened and pitying at the same time, "What happened to you on that island?"

"A lot."

Oliver walked out, knowing that he could not spend another moment in the suffocating presence of ignorance and weakness.