Archie Goodwin International Airport sat on the edge of Gotham like an island of light trying to hold back the tide of darkness pressing in from all sides. The terminal glowed against the night, but that brightness only made the surrounding blackness feel heavier.
Marco parked the GCPD-marked SUV outside the arrivals lane and leaned against the door, watching the stream of passengers pour out through the sliding glass doors. Most of them looked exhausted, dragging rolling suitcases and checking their phones.
He'd expected to see a few foundation representatives. So when a weathered-looking man in his thirties walked through the doors, he did a double-take.
"Mr. Queen," he said, pushing off from the SUV. "You came in person?"
Oliver stood tall, dressed in a well-tailored dark jacket over a casual shirt.
"I still have questions I'd like to discuss with you. Besides, I figured I should see this famous city for myself."
He gestured to the young woman beside him. "Thea, you met her in Star City."
"Wow." Thea took a deep breath through her nose, then immediately wrinkled it. "So this is Gotham? The smell is... really something."
Marco said flatly. "You get used to it."
Oliver gestured to the man standing slightly behind him.
"John Diggle. My friend, driver, and bodyguard."
"Three jobs," Marco said, extending his hand to shake. "Does that mean you get three paychecks?"
John's mouth twitched as he shook Marco's hand. "Thanks for reminding me. I'll need to have a talk with him about that."
"Captain," Oliver said, glancing at the several assistants behind him carrying bags and equipment. He frowned slightly. "Actually, I've already had my assistant arrange transportation locally. They should be waiting outside." He pointed toward the exit. "Two executive limousines, plenty of space for all of us, and more appropriate for our status and security needs. No offense, but there's really no need to..."
He gestured at the police SUV behind Marco.
"... squeeze into that like we're being arrested."
Marco followed Oliver's gaze. Sure enough, two black luxury cars sat at the curb. They looked like they'd just rolled off a showroom floor. A few homeless people had already started drifting closer, drawn by the wealth.
"In terms of comfort? Yeah, executive cars are better. But when it comes to safety..." He shrugged. "Gotham has its own realities, Mr. Queen."
Oliver's frown deepened.
"I understand Gotham's reputation. But we're not amateurs. We have our own security team, and John here is former special forces. He's seen combat."
John opened his mouth, probably to point out that Marco had a valid concern, then closed it again. His instincts were telling him the cop wasn't exaggerating, but when your boss had already made up his mind, what could you do?
"Mr. Queen," Marco pressed, because he really didn't want anything to happen to major donors before the check cleared. "Honestly, driving cars like that through Gotham at night is like dropping a bar of soap in the showers at Blackgate Prison. You're going to attract exactly the kind of attention you don't want."
"Hey!" Oliver snapped slightly. "There's a lady present. Keep it professional."
He was annoyed now. After all, someone who'd survived Lian Yu and taken down multiple criminal organizations in Star City wasn't going to fully believe that things could really be as bad as this cop was claiming.
"Thank you for your concern. But we'll stick to the original plan. If we run into any minor trouble, I'm confident we can handle it."
Marco looked at Oliver's face and knew that further argument was pointless. The guy had made up his mind and wasn't going to back down.
"Fine," he said with a shrug. "Suit yourselves. Just follow my vehicle closely. And remember, no matter what happens, don't get out of the car. And don't open the windows. Clear?"
Oliver nodded.
Marco turned and climbed into the SUV, switched on the siren and pulled away from the curb. Behind him, Oliver led Thea and the others toward the two luxury limousines. Engines purred to life and the convoy merged into the sparse late-night traffic heading toward the city.
---
At first, everything seemed fine. The airport expressway was well-lit, recently paved, with clear lane markings and streetlights. It could've been any major American city. Thea sat in the back of the lead limousine, sipping from a bottle of water and scrolling through her phone.
"So far, not that scary."
John, seated up front in the passenger seat, didn't respond. He was watching the scenery outside, and he'd already noticed something Oliver hadn't: the farther they drove from the airport, the worse things got.
First, the streetlights started getting dimmer. Then some of them were broken entirely, leaving pools of shadow. The road surface deteriorated from smooth asphalt to cracked pavement, potholes forcing the driver to swerve occasionally. Buildings alongside the highway shifted from modern glass-and-steel structures to older brick warehouses with broken windows and graffiti-covered walls.
"Mr. Queen," he said quietly. "You seeing this?"
Oliver looked up from his tablet, glancing out the window. They were passing through what looked like an industrial wasteland. A few figures moved in the darkness between buildings, but they disappeared the moment the headlights swept over them.
"It's just the outskirts. Every city has rough areas near the airport."
The convoy continued south, following Marco's flashing lights deeper into Gotham. The expressway ended, dumping them onto surface streets that grew progressively more nightmarish. Graffiti covered every surface. Windows were boarded up or shattered. Burned-out cars sat rusting at the curbs. Groups of men loitered on corners, tracking the passing vehicles.
Thea had stopped looking at her phone. She was staring out the window now.
"Oliver..." she started.
"We're fine."
They passed through an area where every building looked like it had been hit by artillery fire. Bullet holes pockmarked the walls. Entire storefronts had been burned out, leaving hollow black shells. A few streetlights still worked, but they only illuminated the decay in more detail.
"What..." one of the assistants whispered from the back.
Then the convoy officially entered a neighborhood locals called "The Cauldron," a lawless zone where even the GCPD only went in force, if they went at all.
And that's when the shooting started.
---
The first burst of gunfire sounded like firecrackers, rapid pops echoing off the buildings. Then it escalated into a full-blown symphony of violence.
SCREEECH.
Marco's SUV slammed to a stop in the middle of the street, tires shrieking. The limousines behind him barely managed to brake in time, their drivers panicking as they realized what was happening.
Through the reinforced windows, Oliver saw hell.
The intersection ahead had turned into a war zone. Two groups of gunmen used abandoned cars and the corners of nearby buildings as cover, firing automatic weapons at each other without the slightest restraint. Muzzle flashes lit up the night. Bullet impacts kicked up sprays of concrete dust and sparks as rounds tore through walls and streetlights.
The noise was overwhelming. Spent brass casings clattered onto the pavement. Someone screamed. Glass shattered, and a car alarm began to wail.
"Get down!" John barked, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for the weapon he'd secured under his jacket.
Oliver's combat instincts kicked in immediately. He assessed the situation: two hostile groups, limited cover, civilian vehicle, no armor and weapons, sister in the backseat...
Then his analysis was interrupted by a sound.
WHOOOOSH.
A streak of light trailing smoke and flame shot out from a second-floor window of a nearby building. For half a second, his brain refused to process what he was seeing. Then the projectile struck one of the cars being used as cover at the street corner.
BOOM.
A massive fireball that lit up the entire block. The shockwave rattled the limousine hard enough to rock it on its suspension. Flaming debris arced through the air. The burning car flipped onto its side, and Oliver could see, just for a moment, bodies outlined against the fire.
Someone had just fired an RPG in the middle of a fucking street.
"That was a rocket launcher," John said. "Mr. Queen, we need to get out of here."
Thea was hyperventilating in the back seat. The assistants looked like they were about to pass out. Even the driver had both hands on the steering wheel.
Oliver heard the dull thuds of rounds striking the limousine's armored body and the sharp cracks against its bulletproof glass.
Death was knocking on the door.
In that moment, all of his earlier confidence shattered.
This wasn't Star City.
"Captain!" He grabbed the radio. "Is it still possible to get into your vehicle?"
Marco's voice crackled back. "I knew you'd say that. The rear door's unlocked. Get out and run. I'll buy you five minutes."
The external PA system on his SUV came to life. His voice echoed across the street.
"This is Captain Marco Vitale of the East End GCPD. I'm escorting important guests to a hotel in the Diamond District. I need you to cease fire for five minutes. If you cooperate, I'll be very grateful. If you don't, tomorrow morning GCPD SWAT will go full scorched-earth on your bosses' operations, and every bit of the fallout will land on your heads."
The gunfire immediately thinned. Figures on both sides of the street scrambled to duck behind cover, suddenly terrified of being identified. Nobody wanted to be the guy who pissed off a cop connected enough to call in ESU raids.
"Move!" Oliver barked.
They piled out of the limousine in a chaotic rush. John went first, weapon drawn, scanning for threats. Oliver grabbed Thea's hand and pulled her out, keeping low. The assistants stumbled after them, one clutching his briefcase like it was a life preserver. They ran for Marco's SUV.
Marco had the rear door open. "Get in! Hurry up!"
Oliver shoved Thea into the back seat, then squeezed into the front passenger seat himself. He glanced back, Thea and one of the assistants were crammed in the back row, everyone else was crouched in the cargo area, and John had wedged himself near the rear door, seated on the floor with his weapon in his lap.
Marco hit the gas. The SUV lurched forward, rolling slowly through the battlefield. Through the windows, Oliver could see the gang members on both sides watching them pass.
The moment the SUV cleared the intersection, the shooting started again.
Thea was making quiet, choked sounds in the back seat, her hands pressed over her mouth. One of the assistants was praying under his breath. John looked like he'd just been through a flashback.
Oliver leaned back against the uncomfortable seat, and stared out the window at the cityscape rolling past. He'd come to Gotham thinking he understood darkness.
But he'd been wrong.