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eagle-feather-2014 · 3 years

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BLM/BNHA: “True Heroes”

A hero is tasked with protecting the public from threats that they are no match for. They uphold the peace and enforce the laws that govern the land so that order was maintained, and when the air filled with tear gas, all bets were off.

Sometimes, peace is met with violence, and when that violence is sanctioned by the government, well… a hero has to stand for justice, and class 1-A were heroes that wouldn’t stand by just because the very people who paid their salary were the ones playing the role of the villain. The front lines of protests changed after the first instance of lethal force being authorized occurred. Pro-heroes began to publicly attend protests in full gear and stand at the front line of the crowd, right between the civilians and the police. If lethal force would be authorized, well, they’d have to get through them before they could touch the citizens, and what could police without quirk authorization do to the kids that took down national criminal organizations and the League of Villains?

No large protest took place without at least three 1-A students present. They insisted that the protesters stay calm and peaceful, and in return, the heroes would ensure that no one got hurt or arrested. They made grand statements, blocking roads and highways, surrounding buildings like the police stations and city halls of the places the protests took place. The world began to take notice as word spread that Pro-heroes were refusing orders to stand down when police tried to dispatch crowds with force.

Interviews with heroes like Deku, Ground Zero, Shouto, and Red Riot make a clear, cohesive statement that the protesters were fighting a legitimate battle in a way that they had every right to do, and that the heroes were there to keep peaceful protests from becoming a scene of police brutality to quiet a dissenting opinion.

“You can’t uphold a system of systemic racism and abuse and expect people to not want things to change. You also can’t punish them for using their Constitutional rights to peaceful protest because they are drawing attention to a failure in the system.” The world clung to what Deku said on live national news as the rallying cry for more people to get involved. The heroes were protecting them if they were using their rights properly. He was recorded to be at many events, passing out water and bandanas to those needing them, and helping to make signs from old cardboard and permanent markers. Many pictures showed him holding back riot gear police from the crowds, insisting that they stop following orders and instead use their humanity.

“It’s bullshit! The fact that violence has been authorized against these people by the government is all a bullshit political move! Fuck re-election! People are being hurt! If they fire me for refusing orders and throwing tear gas canisters back at them, then they can all just die and go to hell!” Social media blew up, echoing the sentiment Ground Zero offered a news team after an incident where he took a rubber bullet to the brow and had an eye swollen shut for days. His statement, bruised eye and all, became evidence that the police were mistreating the people the heroes were protecting. The Internet flooded with videos taken by protesters of Ground Zero bare handed picking up tear gas canisters and blasting them to pieces with his quirk or otherwise lobbing them back at the police who had fired them in the first place, screaming that they “picked the wrong fight, assholes.”

“No one deserves the mistreatment that the African Americans have faced. There is a reason people are here, and that reason is that they see people being treated differently in the modern world. Everyone here cares that people are being hurt, arrested, and killed because of the color of their skin. They want the injustice to stop. This isn’t about one person like the media tries to say it is, but rather about a people struggling to survive against hate.” The leaders of the Black Lives Matter movement chose Red Riot to be their hero advocate voice, because he understood their beliefs and had been at their sides before any other hero had. Video after video depicted him at the front of crowds, black paint smeared across his face and carrying a sign with the symbol of the movement on it proudly, leading the crowd in chants and being a human shield against rubber bullets. Media tried to play on the irony that the hero Red Riot was leading “peaceful protests” in order to try to turn away their support, but evidence that Shouto and Hagakure managed to compile of the truth of the police staging and anarchists and looters being unrelated to the movement was a good way to gut the argument.

“I have resources, and not a lot of protesters do, so I’ve been working to help fund programs and gather evidence of the underhanded tactics that the police, government, and media are using to damage this movement’s very real credibility. The amount of cherry picking, undercover cops, and government corruption is appalling, and I want it on every news station that is willing to air the truth. People need to know that they are being lied to about these protests,” Shouto explained in an interview, boosting public interest in the findings that he was publishing. Whole websites popped up to add to the evidence, listing people’s experiences, and to provide video and document proof to the general public for free.

Their efforts made it so no one could ignore what was happening. They risked their health and jobs to stand in defense of the protesters as the government tried to silence the whistleblowing of the corruption and systemic racism that was inherent in the procedures and trainings that were widespread. Their chants were echoed around the world by online supporters, and funds began to pour into the charities aiding the protests. Supplies were donated to help the cause, and the very fact that the world was watching and listening put pressure on the government that had been authorizing lethal force. No one could deny the images and videos of the Pro-heroes being injured and wounded in trying to protect innocents practicing their rights. They couldn’t deny the fact that Pro-heroes were being hit with rubber bullets until black and blue in order to keep children from being hit. They used their quirks only when violence broke out, and only until the police conceded to no longer using force.

The police were no match for the few Pro-heroes at each event. They could try to use lethal force to dispatch the crowd, but with Pro-heroes between them and the crowd, authorized to use their quirks to protect civilians, they never got to the crowd before being forced to call off the attack or leave. Protester injuries dropped, and the movement was being forced to be taken seriously, even as the government tried stripping titles from the kids. Even without their Pro-hero status, they didn’t stop supporting the movement or protecting people at the events when police tried to hurt people to scare them off.

They would bring supplies like shin guards and goggles to pass out, and they would rob police of riot shields and redistribute them to those civilians being attacked. The world watched on the edge of their seats as the movement only grew louder and louder as Pro-heroes stood behind them against every injustice and every attempt to make them stop. They weren’t going to stop as long as people were being hurt and injustice remained. It was their duty to protect people from threats, with or without the license, and that was just what they would do. They would go beyond plus ultra to make a difference, and this was where they were making their stand.

So, throw the tear gas, it’ll be thrown back. So, bring riot shields, they’ll be taken for protecting the vulnerable. So, strip their ranks, they’ll still be standing there between both sides. So, fire rubber bullets, they’ll wear black and blue with pride. So, do whatever you want, but know that they won’t be backing down until real change hits, because a real hero protects people now and in the future.

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raywritesthings · 5 years

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Wrong Road to the Right Place 16/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, John Diggle, Malcolm Merlyn, Moira Queen, Quentin Lance, McKenna Hall, Frank Chen, Ted Grant, Tommy Merlyn Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel finds herself curious about the marks Oliver showed her that night in his bedroom - and the tattoo on his left shoulder stands out in particular. When she discovers its meaning, she finds herself questioning everything she knows about the man she doesn’t want to admit she still loves. Additional Note: Lightly Sexual Content *Can also be read on my AO3 page*

Moira was at the end of her rope.

Even as she stared across at the other woman, she could see the shock quickly shifting to betrayal and outrage.

“It was you. You ordered the hit?”

“It wasn’t a hit in the strictest sense. I- I needed you to realize just how much danger you’re in, Laurel.”

“By almost ending my life? How could you?”

Moira didn’t look away. “There are many things I’ve had to do the last five years I would never have thought myself capable of. But I am capable — for my family.”

“I know.”

She raised both eyebrows.

“I know about the Gambit and that it wasn’t an accident,” Laurel continued, her voice growing stronger with each word. “I know how that must have left you vulnerable. Was that when Merlyn approached you, Mrs. Queen? Was that when he told you about the Undertaking?”

“How much does Oliver know?” It was already too much, if Laurel had shared even a fraction of what she was saying now. Moira’s voice shook. “He wasn’t supposed to know any of this.”

“How can he help you if he doesn’t know? There has to be some other way. I could- I have contacts.”

“The Hood?” Moira shook her head. “He won’t beat Malcolm’s associate. Malcolm is fairly certain he barely escaped with his life last time.”

“He can still help you. What is the Undertaking, Moira? Please.” Laurel leaned forward to meet her eyes. “I know it can’t be anything good. Merlyn wouldn’t use murder otherwise.”

She closed her eyes. “You can’t know. It’s too terrible. And if I told you, Oliver and Thea—”

“No.”

The single word caused her breath to stick in her throat for a moment.

Laurel was frowning. “You don’t get to use your children as human shields like that, Moira. Not when there are other lives on the line.”

“I am protecting them!”

“You’re making excuses for yourself! Merlyn needs you in order for this plan to work, doesn’t he? Or he wouldn’t have told you. All it would’ve taken was you going to the police and having them put you and Thea in witness protection.”

“That would never have stopped Malcolm. He has resources—”

“That he could have accessed behind bars? You don’t think my father would have done everything in his power to strip everything from the man who was responsible for Sara’s death?”

Moira winced. “I’m sorry that your family was caught up in this. Truly, I am.” She drew herself up to sitting fully back against her desk chair. “But after the Gambit, I couldn’t take any more risks.”

Laurel stared at her long and hard. “I think that’s the first true thing you’ve said all night.”

Moira was caught off guard by the shame that managed to well up in her at those words and the disappointment in Laurel’s gaze. But she steeled herself and picked up the pen.

“I’m sorry you see it that way. But I am trying to do what’s best. Maybe once this is all over, Oliver could meet you—”

“If you think Oliver would want to see me after I lied about this then I’m sorry, Moira, but you don’t know your own son. Not anymore. And I don’t know that I can forgive you for this.” She laid a hand over her abdomen where Moira knew the wound had been inflicted. “But if you want Oliver to be able to you have to be honest with him. You have to tell him the truth.”

“The truth would get him killed. The same as it did Robert — the same that it will Frank.”

Laurel sat back. “What do you mean?”

Moira swallowed once. “Malcolm was very angry about the attack. I had to give him a name. To keep- to keep my family safe.” She had to set down the pen, her fingers were shaking too badly. “Malcolm’s associate will be paying him a visit.”

“He’s there?” Laurel demanded, horrified. “Tonight?”

Moira bowed her head. “You can’t stop him, Laurel. Frank’s fate is sealed.”

The young woman shook her head as she stood, hurrying from the room. The blank check remained sitting on the desk.

She rubbed at her temples. Laurel was determined to find herself trouble, that much was clear. But how did Moira make certain her family survived this?

—-

Oliver took his time sneaking past Chen’s security. He wasn’t interested in fighting them unless he had to; a fight would give others time to call the police, and that time was needed for him to question their boss.

He finally located his target in his home office. Chen was in the middle of a phone call.

“The money has been wired to you. It will cover Amanda’s expenses for the next year. She is not to return to the States unless I say so. Are we clear?” Chen paused to listen for an answer. “Good.”

He slammed the phone down onto the receiver and glanced up. A loud gasp left him.

“Call for help and they will only find your body,” Oliver warned the man just before his hand went under the desk. He froze, before a look of resignation came over his features.

“Yes. I should have guessed you would be on your way here.” Chen swallowed. “What do I need to do to stay alive?”

“You can start with why you attempted to have Laurel Lance assassinated.”

He nodded. “She was getting too close to an associate of mine. The idea was to dissuade her from looking into the matter any further.”

Oliver felt his eyes widen. The attack hadn’t been fatal on purpose? “You intended for her to live?”

“Yes. Please understand, I only did what I had to for my daughter.”

“It sounds like you were more interested in protecting your associate than your family.”

“It’s more complicated than that. You are dealing with people more powerful than you realize. I will be brought down by it all, I’ve known that for years. It might even be a relief.” A wan smile rose on his lips. “After everything I’ve done…”

“Such as,” Oliver prompted in the ensuing silence.

Chen hesitated. “If I tell you, my daughter stays safe. She was not involved in any of this.”

Oliver wasn’t sure if he’d ever met Amanda, to be honest, if she’d been there for one of those joint dinners his parents had with their business partners. Either way, he wasn’t interested in innocents. “Agreed.”

Chen looked down again, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it’s come to this. I should have just helped Robert buy those properties all those years ago, put an end to it at the start.”

“Robert Queen?” His voice didn’t catch, but it was a very near thing.

Chen opened his mouth to answer, but never did.

Oliver heard the arrow release, and he whirled around. The maneuver proved unnecessary, for the arrow sailed on past him and embedded in Frank Chen’s chest. He gave a gasp of air before slumping over his desk.

The Dark Archer regarded him, one hand already reaching back for another arrow in preparation. Oliver did likewise.

Was this man the same height as Malcolm Merlyn? Did they have the same build? He couldn’t make out the color of his eyes at such a distance, just the whites of his irises gleaming in the dark.

“I’m afraid Mr. Chen’s associate has terminated their working relationship,” the Dark Archer stated at last.

“I can see that.” Whether he was Merlyn under that Hood or not, Oliver didn’t want to reveal he had guessed it. That would lead right back to either Laurel or Tommy, since they’d witnessed Malcolm killing the two Triad members. And the information was only good so long as it gave him the element of surprise.

“We find ourselves at an impasse, then,” the Dark Archer continued. “You tried to stop Chen’s hired gun, and I have punished him for hiring them. We might even be on the same side after all.”

Oliver’s grip on his bow tightened. He was sure his knuckles were white under his gloves. “Yours is the side of murder.”

“And yours isn’t?”

His opponent fired without warning, but Oliver was ready this time. He deflected the shot with one of his own, already drawing another arrow. The Dark Archer did likewise, sidestepping Oliver’s second arrow and just barely missing his next attempt. The noise should have alerted the few guards around the house, he noted dimly — unless they were already dead.

The loud discharge of a gun and the shattering of glass cut through the night. Oliver ducked down around the desk and heard a distorted shout of pain. The Dark Archer was on the ground.

Headlights swept over the room. He used the blinding light as cover to dive out the destroyed window, rolling to his feet in the grass.

Diggle had the back doors flung open and facing him as he raced down to the drive. Oliver leapt in and reached back to shut them even as the van lurched forward.

“Where’s Chen?”

“He’s dead. Drive!”

An arrow smashed through the left side mirror and John swore as he swerved onto the street.

“You alright?”

Oliver looked up and out the back window. They weren’t being followed. “Fine. How’d you know to come in shooting?”

“Laurel called. I don’t know how she knew,” John added before he could ask. Oliver’s mind was racing. How had Laurel gotten intel about the Dark Archer when she’d been at the Manor? Was his family okay?

He had to believe they were. The Dark Archer would have said something to taunt him otherwise. His identity still had to be a secret.

Laurel was waiting for them at the base, and she immediately wrapped him in a hug he was happy to take comfort in. Oliver nuzzled at her hair before pulling back to meet her lips in a long kiss.

He had survived the Dark Archer with help. He was safe. Oliver rested his forehead against hers after they parted.

“Did John get there in time?”

Oliver glanced over at their friend, who was watching with raised eyebrows. When their eyes met, Digg simply gave a single approving nod. Probably glad they weren’t dancing around the issue anymore. Oliver knew he was.

“Yeah. How did you know the Dark Archer was there?”

“Your mother,” Laurel answered, looking like she was struggling with something extremely unpleasant. “She- she tried to buy me off, Ollie.”

Something like lead dropped into the pit of his stomach. “What?”

Laurel stepped back even as his arms fell limply to his sides. “She asked me into her office and got out her checkbook. She doesn’t want us to have contact anymore, because she’s afraid for you.”

“And afraid of you, I’m guessing,” John remarked to Laurel. The corner of her lip twitched up for just a moment. Then it fell again as she looked back at him.

Oliver felt ungrounded. He’d known his mother was mixed up in things, but for her to go this far… “Why is she afraid?”

“I know too much, and she doesn’t want me telling you. She- she knew about the hit, Ollie.”

“Chen ordered it,” he said immediately, because he had to. Because if his mother—

“But she knew about it. I’m sorry.” She stepped forward again and took his hands. “She’s terrified of Malcolm and the Dark Archer and what they would do to you or Thea.”

“No, that’s not it. Not all of it.” He shook his head. It hurt — God, it hurt like Hell to have to face this. But he couldn’t hide from it. “She’s afraid of change. She wants us to be safe but she wants us to be the Queens, in our home, with the company. Honoring the legacy of a man who never honored their own marriage.” He closed his eyes.

Maybe if he’d been there, if he hadn’t gone on the yacht and been the support his mother had badly needed, maybe he would have seen what Malcolm was planning and stopped it. He could never know for certain, but he could wonder.

“I need her information on the Undertaking. I just don’t know how to get it.”

“I’d hesitate to ask her directly,” John remarked. “Since we know what lengths she’s willing to go.”

It seemed unthinkable, but his friend was right. “I’ll have to think about it. Just for a few days.” There was no telling how much time they had now that Chen was dead.

“Ollie...where do we go?”

That one question made him realize something he’d never thought of before. Through all the years and hardship and sacrifice, he had always assumed his family would be there for him. That they would have his best interests at heart always and support him. That he had something to fall back on.

He was terrified to realize he did not have an answer to Laurel’s question. The look in her eyes said she knew that already.

Oliver stepped forward and folded her back into his arms, kissing her forehead. If all they had was each other, then that was more than he’d had on the island. It was more than enough to survive.

—-

Malcolm made sure to take everything with him that could be used by forensics. Not a drop of his blood could be found at the scene.

The pain of the bullet in his shoulder only started to register over the pounding of his heart halfway home. He’d forgone the vest; it was too bulky to move around in with his old uniform on top. A mistake, perhaps, but not his undoing.

The staff had all been sent home before he had gone out, so he ran into no one in the mansion on his way to his room. There, Malcolm worked the bullet out of his shoulder on his own, grimacing at the wound. It would need to be treated. A private physician.

He made calls to his staff to give them the week off, then scheduled Dr. Linder for the first thing in the morning. Malcolm dressed the wound as best he could on his own and allowed himself a few hours of rest.

So the Hood had realized Frank Chen wasn’t the upstanding citizen everyone thought he was. Not that people would be thinking that for long, once news that he had hired the Triad to attack Malcolm’s award ceremony broke. Malcolm had been intending to interrogate the traitor in Tempest himself, but finding the Hood there had made silencing Frank more important. Perhaps Moira would have an idea as to their old friend’s motivations instead. At the least, he didn’t think the Hood had learned anything too useful.

Malcolm wondered yet again as to the archer’s identity. Where had he come from, and why? Who was helping him? He would have to find them all and deal with them quietly. It only took one wrong person knowing the truth for his plans to fall apart.

He rose early, as was his custom, and made another call.

“Hello?” His son answered on the third ring with sleep fogging his voice.

“Tommy, I’m afraid I’ve come down with something and won’t be in the office this week,” he stated briskly. “You’ll have to see the vice president for your orientation.”

“Wait, what? You’re sick? But you never get sick.”

“I am human, Tommy,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess. Do you...do you want someone to come over?”

“I’ll be seeing a doctor. I don’t need any visitors. It wouldn’t do for you to catch it.”

“Okay.” Tommy sounded relieved. “Well, feel better.”

“I will.”

He hung up, having nothing else to add. Hopefully by the time he returned to the office, Tommy would be broken in. That was one less thing he’d have to deal with. His injury was a blessing in disguise in that regard.

He’d initially been surprised when Tommy had approached him about working for the company. But then, it solved one problem Malcolm had been contemplating; how to make sure Tommy was not in the Glades when the Undertaking occurred. Without his job at the club, it was no longer an issue. He knew his son didn’t like to spend time there otherwise.

Moira would have to come up with some sort of pretext for Oliver. Perhaps he could host a party for the Queens. Oliver’s birthday was in May. If the devices were ready by then, it would be the perfect time. Not to mention provide Malcolm himself the perfect alibi.

Dr. Linder was very discreet and did not ask any questions when she arrived to treat his shoulder. She gave him medication for pain that he didn’t intend to take. He would suffer through and learn from this error. Next time he would be on the watch for the Hood’s allies, whoever they were.

He watched the developing news story out of the Glades with some interest. Another lowly killer targeting those who only strove to do right, such as ADA Carnahan. How hypocritical of him to dub himself the Savior of all things. The Glades couldn’t be saved. This amateur and all the rest of his ilk would have to be wiped out, and soon, so they could at last start over.

His doctor visited again later in the week, pronouncing him fit with a little more rest. He would even regain full use of his arm with the right exercises. Malcolm listened to the instructions dutifully, committing them to memory as they spoke over a shared pot of coffee.

“And you’ll make certain this house call will stay out of your records?”

“Of course, Mr. Merlyn. I value my patients’ privacy. Your personal health is our secret.”

Malcolm gave her a tight-lipped smile. “I know it is.”

He saw her to the door and watched her car head down the long drive. Then he returned to his kitchen and personally washed both coffee mugs — hers only after soaking it for thirty minutes in a mix to neutralize the extra ingredient he’d added.

The slow-acting poison would take effect over the next five days, seeming to be a common flu at first. By the time anyone realized anything was truly wrong, it would be too late.

A shame, but he was too close now. He could allow for no one or nothing to slip up, especially with the Hood seemingly on his trail.

Soon, he would reach his goal. Soon, Rebecca would be avenged. It was only a matter of time.

—-

Quentin rubbed his eyes as he set his pen down. He was only halfway through the report on the Chen murder, and he still couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

Chen had been named by the Triad member as the one who hired them to attack the award ceremony at Merlyn Global. Chen and Merlyn were also old friends, always had been. So why had he done it, and — even more importantly — why had this Dark Archer stepped in to take care of him and his security?

He had found the black-tipped arrows in all the men left in the house, along with some green ones, though those hadn’t been in anybody’s bodies. No, it seemed the two archers had had another duel, though he was lost as to what the cause or outcome was.

He needed information and he needed it now. Too much was going on in this town to keep track of. Bertinelli hadn’t taken their bait the other week, they had two different archers running around, and now some nut job was live-streaming murders in the Glades. And with all the chaos, he still didn’t have that warrant to Merlyn’s office. When had it come to this?

There was only one of these problems to which he had a direct line to, so Quentin headed around the back of the precinct to a little-used alley and took out the old vigilante phone. It was the first time he was trying this since he’d hung up on the Hood before the Triad attack, so he hoped the vigilante hadn’t tossed his out.

He only had to wait one ring before it was picked up.

“Detective?”

“Listen, I gotta talk to you.”

“I thought we didn’t work together.”

“Yeah, well this is important.”

“I’ve got important things to work on at the minute myself.”

“Sure.” He glanced around to be certain he wasn’t overheard. “Thought maybe we could do a trade on that, if you were interested.”

There was a pause. “I’m listening.”

They arranged a meetup. Soon enough, Quentin was waiting in a shadowy alley with the collar on his jacket turned up and a flash drive in his pocket. The Hood dropped down about ten feet away from him, right when his back was to him of course. Quentin whirled around.

“Your information on the Savior?”

Right to the chase, he always was. Quentin could appreciate that in a man.

“CSU was able to isolate the audio on that last video our killer put out. They’re telling me there’s some unique sound in the background they haven’t quite identified. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Quentin tossed the flash drive towards the vigilante, who caught it with little trouble. He stowed it in a pocket.

“What did you need from me?”

“Just wanted to ask you something. Is one of those billionaires you’re planning to go after named Merlyn?”

He thought he could see the Hood tense up where he stood. “Why do you ask?”

Well, he was this far in, wasn’t he? “Probably shouldn’t tell you this. But he’s got some kind of secret room in his office behind a false wall. Wouldn’t open it for us and lied about what it was for.”

“Is Merlyn a suspect?”

“Not in my current case, but I’m hoping to get a warrant.”

The Hood shook his head. “You can’t investigate Merlyn.”

Quentin scoffed. “I don’t remember your promotion to police captain.”

“This is serious, Detective. The people that look into things surrounding Malcolm Merlyn tend to disappear. Or worse.”

“And why’s that? If you don’t give me something, he’s not getting brought in.”

“He’s not the kind of person to come quietly.”

With that the vigilante turned and ran up the nearest fire escape. Quentin knew he didn’t have a hope of catching him.

All this cloak and dagger stuff was going to be the death of him. Couldn’t he get just one decent lead?

Quentin stewed in his frustration for two days. In that time, the Hood caught the self-styled Savior down in the old unused subway tunnels. That was one less thing to worry about. Now if he could just get anywhere on his own cases, or with his family. Poor Dinah had finally gone home, and he still hadn’t seen Laurel since that fight the two of them had apparently had. The last time he’d gone round her apartment, she hadn’t been home.

“Lance?”

He looked up at Hall’s approach to his desk. She was holding a flip phone.

“I just received this package. No sender, no prints either.”

He scowled. What, was the Hood trying out different officers because of their argument over Merlyn?

“There a number in there?”

She nodded.

“Alright, come on.” He stood and motioned her into an empty interrogation room. Quentin glanced at the phone again. It was a cheap-looking thing compared to the one he’d gotten from the Hood, like a burner or one of those pay-per-minute things they sold at the superstores.

“Dial it on speaker,” he instructed, and Hall did so.

It rang twice before it was picked up. “Detective Hall?”

Quentin frowned; it was a distorted voice, alright, but different from the Hood’s. He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but it was higher in pitch, milder in tone somehow. Intimidation was not the main purpose.

“Yes,” she answered at his prompting. “To whom am I speaking?”

“I can’t answer that. All I can tell you is if you’re interested in what’s going on in this city, you need to start with real estate. Specifically in the Glades, starting five years ago.”

Quentin only barely held in a startled noise as Hall glanced at him in bewilderment.

“What do you mean? Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you have resources I don’t. And you follow the law. I wish I didn’t have to be doing this, but recent events have left me no choice.”

“Who are you?” Hall asked.

“Just a guy with a lot of questions, looking for the answers. I’ll be in touch.”

The line cut out. There was a beat of silence.

“And just when we thought the Hood had taken care of our extra vigilante problem,” Hall remarked wryly.

Quentin grit his teeth. Just what they needed.

—-

Laurel wiped some sweat off her brow before returning to the center of the mat. She nodded across at her instructor.

After a rest period for her injury, she was finally starting that much-needed training. Laurel was grateful for it for two reasons; one that she badly needed to improve her skills and the other that it gave her somewhere to go besides work and the base.

She and Oliver were living out of it for the time being, neither comfortable with returning to her apartment after the multiple attacks or the Queen family manor since Moira’s ultimatum. She had yet to hear anything from the older woman and wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. If she’d hired someone once…

Laurel ducked under Ted’s swing but didn’t get her guard up in time to block his next jab. She staggered back a couple steps but bounced back. Now wasn’t the time to worry about everything else. She needed to focus.

He called them to a halt fifteen minutes later. “Get some water and cool off. Not bad today.”

Laurel nodded, getting out of the ring before heading over to her things. She took a long drink and checked her messages. One from Oliver asking her to check in, which had her pulling a face — he’d been doing this since she’d told him about his mother. Another from Thea, asking her if she was free some time.

Laurel sighed. She was sure her younger friend was curious about what was happening, but the last thing she needed was Moira thinking she was dragging both her children into things. Laurel left Thea’s message unanswered.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and Laurel frowned at the unfamiliar number before answering. “Hello?”

“Miss Dinah Laurel Lance?” A heavily accented voice asked. Russian, if she had to guess. It somehow almost sounded familiar.

“Speaking.”

“We have not been properly introduced. I am Alexi Leonev,” he stated.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure we’ve met.”

“We have,” he insisted. “You are American Captain’s pretty bird.”

Laurel stilled. A chill traveled down her spine and settled somewhere in her heart. “How did you get this number?”

“I see you on news. You are lawyer. Bratva has need of lawyer.”

“I don’t do that kind of work,” Laurel replied coolly. “If you’ve looked me up you know I’m at a nonprofit. The Bratva has money.”

There was a laugh on the other end. “Yes, but Carnahan is dead. DA’s office will be less friendly now. We need good lawyer. Tell your American Captain it is Bratva request. He will tell you to listen.”

Laurel hit the end call button before she’d even thought it through, breathing harshly. The Bratva knew her identity and had found a use for it.

She’d been so stupid, getting caught like that that day. But without it, she would still have no clue what was going on with Oliver. She wouldn’t have helped to uncover Malcolm Merlyn’s involvement in the Undertaking. How could she even think about taking that back?

And there was no use to it; they knew, and so this was her reality now.

“You alright?” Ted asked. He was passing by her on the way to the punching bags, likely to correct someone’s form.

Laurel swallowed and nodded once. “Yeah. Fine.”

He stood there a moment longer before turning and walking away. Laurel looked back down at her phone and worried her lip.

What was Oliver going to say? How did they get out of this one? Moira and Malcolm on one side and the Bratva on the other.

The walls were closing in, and she didn’t know what to do.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #john diggle #malcolm merlyn #moira queen #quentin lance #mckenna hall #frank chen #tommy merlyn #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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dhgfashe · 4 years

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Through their training, scientists are equipped with what Sagan calls a “baloney detection kit” — a set of cognitive tools and techniques that fortify the mind against penetration by falsehoods:

The kit is brought out as a matter of course whenever new ideas are offered for consideration. If the new idea survives examination by the tools in our kit, we grant it warm, although tentative, acceptance. If you’re so inclined, if you don’t want to buy baloney even when it’s reassuring to do so, there are precautions that can be taken; there’s a tried-and-true, consumer-tested method.

But the kit, Sagan argues, isn’t merely a tool of science — rather, it contains invaluable tools of healthy skepticism that apply just as elegantly, and just as necessarily, to everyday life. By adopting the kit, we can all shield ourselves against clueless guile and deliberate manipulation. Sagan shares nine of these tools:

Wherever possible there must be independent confirmation of the “facts.”

Encourage substantive debate on the evidence by knowledgeable proponents of all points of view.

Arguments from authority carry little weight — “authorities” have made mistakes in the past. They will do so again in the future. Perhaps a better way to say it is that in science there are no authorities; at most, there are experts.

Spin more than one hypothesis. If there’s something to be explained, think of all the different ways in which it could be explained. Then think of tests by which you might systematically disprove each of the alternatives. What survives, the hypothesis that resists disproof in this Darwinian selection among “multiple working hypotheses,” has a much better chance of being the right answer than if you had simply run with the first idea that caught your fancy.

Try not to get overly attached to a hypothesis just because it’s yours. It’s only a way station in the pursuit of knowledge. Ask yourself why you like the idea. Compare it fairly with the alternatives. See if you can find reasons for rejecting it. If you don’t, others will.

Quantify. If whatever it is you’re explaining has some measure, some numerical quantity attached to it, you’ll be much better able to discriminate among competing hypotheses. What is vague and qualitative is open to many explanations. Of course there are truths to be sought in the many qualitative issues we are obliged to confront, but finding them is more challenging.

If there’s a chain of argument, every link in the chain must work (including the premise) — not just most of them.

Occam’s Razor. This convenient rule-of-thumb urges us when faced with two hypotheses that explain the data equally well to choose the simpler.

Always ask whether the hypothesis can be, at least in principle, falsified. Propositions that are untestable, unfalsifiable are not worth much. Consider the grand idea that our Universe and everything in it is just an elementary particle — an electron, say — in a much bigger Cosmos. But if we can never acquire information from outside our Universe, is not the idea incapable of disproof? You must be able to check assertions out. Inveterate skeptics must be given the chance to follow your reasoning, to duplicate your experiments and see if they get the same result.

Just as important as learning these helpful tools, however, is unlearning and avoiding the most common pitfalls of common sense. Reminding us of where society is most vulnerable to those, Sagan writes:

In addition to teaching us what to do when evaluating a claim to knowledge, any good baloney detection kit must also teach us what not to do. It helps us recognize the most common and perilous fallacies of logic and rhetoric. Many good examples can be found in religion and politics, because their practitioners are so often obliged to justify two contradictory propositions.

He admonishes against the twenty most common and perilous ones — many rooted in our chronic discomfort with ambiguity — with examples of each in action:

ad hominem — Latin for “to the man,” attacking the arguer and not the argument (e.g., The Reverend Dr. Smith is a known Biblical fundamentalist, so her objections to evolution need not be taken seriously)

argument from authority (e.g., President Richard Nixon should be re-elected because he has a secret plan to end the war in Southeast Asia — but because it was secret, there was no way for the electorate to evaluate it on its merits; the argument amounted to trusting him because he was President: a mistake, as it turned out)

argument from adverse consequences (e.g., A God meting out punishment and reward must exist, because if He didn’t, society would be much more lawless and dangerous — perhaps even ungovernable. Or: The defendant in a widely publicized murder trial must be found guilty; otherwise, it will be an encouragement for other men to murder their wives)

appeal to ignorance — the claim that whatever has not been proved false must be true, and vice versa (e.g., There is no compelling evidence that UFOs are not visiting the Earth; therefore UFOs exist — and there is intelligent life elsewhere in the Universe. Or: There may be seventy kazillion other worlds, but not one is known to have the moral advancement of the Earth, so we’re still central to the Universe.) This impatience with ambiguity can be criticized in the phrase: absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

special pleading, often to rescue a proposition in deep rhetorical trouble (e.g., How can a merciful God condemn future generations to torment because, against orders, one woman induced one man to eat an apple? Special plead: you don’t understand the subtle Doctrine of Free Will. Or: How can there be an equally godlike Father, Son, and Holy Ghost in the same Person? Special plead: You don’t understand the Divine Mystery of the Trinity. Or: How could God permit the followers of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam — each in their own way enjoined to heroic measures of loving kindness and compassion — to have perpetrated so much cruelty for so long? Special plead: You don’t understand Free Will again. And anyway, God moves in mysterious ways.)

begging the question, also called assuming the answer (e.g., We must institute the death penalty to discourage violent crime. But does the violent crime rate in fact fall when the death penalty is imposed? Or: The stock market fell yesterday because of a technical adjustment and profit-taking by investors — but is there any independent evidence for the causal role of “adjustment” and profit-taking; have we learned anything at all from this purported explanation?)

observational selection, also called the enumeration of favorable circumstances, or as the philosopher Francis Bacon described it, counting the hits and forgetting the misses (e.g., A state boasts of the Presidents it has produced, but is silent on its serial killers)

statistics of small numbers — a close relative of observational selection (e.g., “They say 1 out of every 5 people is Chinese. How is this possible? I know hundreds of people, and none of them is Chinese. Yours truly.” Or: “I’ve thrown three sevens in a row. Tonight I can’t lose.”)

misunderstanding of the nature of statistics (e.g., President Dwight Eisenhower expressing astonishment and alarm on discovering that fully half of all Americans have below average intelligence);

inconsistency (e.g., Prudently plan for the worst of which a potential military adversary is capable, but thriftily ignore scientific projections on environmental dangers because they’re not “proved.” Or: Attribute the declining life expectancy in the former Soviet Union to the failures of communism many years ago, but never attribute the high infant mortality rate in the United States (now highest of the major industrial nations) to the failures of capitalism. Or: Consider it reasonable for the Universe to continue to exist forever into the future, but judge absurd the possibility that it has infinite duration into the past);

non sequitur — Latin for “It doesn’t follow” (e.g., Our nation will prevail because God is great. But nearly every nation pretends this to be true; the German formulation was “Gott mit uns”). Often those falling into the non sequitur fallacy have simply failed to recognize alternative possibilities;

post hoc, ergo propter hoc — Latin for “It happened after, so it was caused by” (e.g., Jaime Cardinal Sin, Archbishop of Manila: “I know of … a 26-year-old who looks 60 because she takes [contraceptive] pills.” Or: Before women got the vote, there were no nuclear weapons)

meaningless question (e.g., What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object? But if there is such a thing as an irresistible force there can be no immovable objects, and vice versa)

excluded middle, or false dichotomy — considering only the two extremes in a continuum of intermediate possibilities (e.g., “Sure, take his side; my husband’s perfect; I’m always wrong.” Or: “Either you love your country or you hate it.” Or: “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem”)

short-term vs. long-term — a subset of the excluded middle, but so important I’ve pulled it out for special attention (e.g., We can’t afford programs to feed malnourished children and educate pre-school kids. We need to urgently deal with crime on the streets. Or: Why explore space or pursue fundamental science when we have so huge a budget deficit?);

slippery slope, related to excluded middle (e.g., If we allow abortion in the first weeks of pregnancy, it will be impossible to prevent the killing of a full-term infant. Or, conversely: If the state prohibits abortion even in the ninth month, it will soon be telling us what to do with our bodies around the time of conception);

confusion of correlation and causation (e.g., A survey shows that more college graduates are homosexual than those with lesser education; therefore education makes people gay. Or: Andean earthquakes are correlated with closest approaches of the planet Uranus; therefore — despite the absence of any such correlation for the nearer, more massive planet Jupiter — the latter causes the former)

straw man — caricaturing a position to make it easier to attack (e.g., Scientists suppose that living things simply fell together by chance — a formulation that willfully ignores the central Darwinian insight, that Nature ratchets up by saving what works and discarding what doesn’t. Or — this is also a short-term/long-term fallacy — environmentalists care more for snail darters and spotted owls than they do for people)

suppressed evidence, or half-truths (e.g., An amazingly accurate and widely quoted “prophecy” of the assassination attempt on President Reagan is shown on television; but — an important detail — was it recorded before or after the event? Or: These government abuses demand revolution, even if you can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs. Yes, but is this likely to be a revolution in which far more people are killed than under the previous regime? What does the experience of other revolutions suggest? Are all revolutions against oppressive regimes desirable and in the interests of the people?)

weasel words (e.g., The separation of powers of the U.S. Constitution specifies that the United States may not conduct a war without a declaration by Congress. On the other hand, Presidents are given control of foreign policy and the conduct of wars, which are potentially powerful tools for getting themselves re-elected. Presidents of either political party may therefore be tempted to arrange wars while waving the flag and calling the wars something else — “police actions,” “armed incursions,” “protective reaction strikes,” “pacification,” “safeguarding American interests,” and a wide variety of “operations,” such as “Operation Just Cause.” Euphemisms for war are one of a broad class of reinventions of language for political purposes. Talleyrand said, “An important art of politicians is to find new names for institutions which under old names have become odious to the public”)

Sagan ends the chapter with a necessary disclaimer:

Like all tools, the baloney detection kit can be misused, applied out of context, or even employed as a rote alternative to thinking. But applied judiciously, it can make all the difference in the world — not least in evaluating our own arguments before we present them to others.

#We need this more than ever these days

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