Oliver Queen quickly turned from his conversation with Forge. The talk, which had been about President Scott's restructuring of Checkmate, was interesting, but it couldn't hold a candle to the beautiful and vibrant woman, who stood before them, Carol Susan Jane Daniels Danvers.

Oliver prepared for the assault he knew was coming. He quickly felt himself pulled into the air, squeezed tightly in Carol's arms. There had been a time when her giant hugs, possible due to her super-human strength, had been disconcerting. That time was in the past now, and Oliver could barely suppress a laugh as he watch the people passing stare, in amazement, as the petite woman carol was loft Oliver in the air as if he were a small child.

Oliver was pleased. It felt good whenever he was together with his two closest friends. He looked forward to the next few days, even if his daughter's abrupt trip to meet him here left some nagging feelings of trouble tingling in the back of his head.

Suddenly, Oliver found himself on the ground again, as Carol made her way towards Forge. Oliver watched the two, as their embrace seemed to be even closer and tighter. Oliver wondered how long the two would go on suppressing their obvious affections for each other. It was easy to see there were strong passions boiling under the surface of each of them, ready to erupt. Oliver sighed, thought of Heather, and about how the ‘super-hero lifestyle' sure made it hard on simple relationships. No one knew that better than Oliver, with a divorce, a string of failed relationships, and a lover thousands of miles away, under his belt.

Oliver, bored being the ‘third wheel', decided it was time to intervene with some conversation.

"How are the boys, Carol?" asked Oliver, knowing bringing up her beloved sons was a sure-fire way to get a conversation started.

Carol turned, smiling. "Alexander is wonderful. He promised me he would take a break from his studies at Berkeley and be here for the fund-raiser. His grades are in the top of his class."

Then, both men noticed the smile fade from Carol's face, as she thought of her younger son, Benjamin.

"Benji is another story though. He has had to move into Project Pegasus full-time. Curt* says his powers are growing at an alarming rate, and Benji just can't seem to keep up in the control department. He has to be constantly monitored, or, even unconscious, he can be very dangerous. Last week, while sleeping, he dreamt he was swimming and transmuted his entire room into a gigantic swim pool. He nearly drowned."

*(Curtis Falconer, a doctor specializing in super human medicine, currently Chief of Staff at government-funded Project: Pegasus)

"I am sorry to hear that, honey," said Oliver sincerely.

Carol shrugged and smiled half-heartedly. "I know, Ollie. It is the price you pay, I guess, for having children when both parents are of the ‘super' populace. It is in the genes. I just wish Drew* were around to see him, and help him though. Alexander got all the strength, and Benji got all the caring and compassion."

*(Drew Daniels, Carol's husband, now deceased)

Carol shifted the line of conversation before it ruined the otherwise festive mood of seeing two of her favorite men on the planet. "I hear that Juan and Cassie are on their way as well."

"Yeah," responded Oliver, happy to change the subject. "A real spur of the moment thing, as far as I know. Kinda scary if you ask me."

Carol elbowed Oliver in the ribs. "Always the cynic, Oliver Queen. Maybe they just want to see their favorite aunt?"

"Maybe," said Oliver, smiling. "Let's get the hell out of here. I am hungry, and Forge here has decided to take us out to lunch."

Oliver and Carol turned to a surprised Forge, then the three laughed as they walked towards the airport's luggage station.

"So," replied the checker, "Ms. Rose Wilson, of Tokyo, are you in Los Angeles for business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure," Rose said coldly, offering no other explanation.

Seeing he was going to get nothing else from the girl, the checker shrugged, stamped her Visa, and waved her on.

As she walked casually away, Rose's mind wandered. Is this pleasure? she thought to herself. Rose really didn't take much satisfaction in being an assassin most of the time. Sure, a few of her hits had been real slimeballs, and she had been doing the world a favor, but most of the time, she was just doing it for the money. And because it was in her blood, she figured. Daddy was a killer, one of the best that ever lived, went by the name Deathstroke, the Terminator. Rose had always found the moniker silly, but he had a larger than life reputation, so she supposed he needed a larger than life name. Her brother, Grant, had also been a proficient killer. He was known as the Ravager, until he had been double-crossed by some scumbag named White Ape in a "hit" in Africa. Rose had plotted to kill the man, and avenge her brother, but she heard that daddy had beat her to it.

Now, here she was, in the City of Angels, preparing for her next big job. It wasn't anything personal, but Shinobi Shaw always knew how to throw out the right amount of cash. Shaw had set some big plans in motion, and Rose was here to make sure none of the blood that was to spilled could be traced back to his hands. Not yet anyway, at least until Shaw was ready. He was a smart guy, that Shaw, in a devious, ‘don't turn your back on him' kind-of-way. Rose liked working for him, because the money flowed, and he always kept her on her toes.

Rose made her way towards the door. She hadn't brought any luggage besides her carry-on. She hadn't had to, because she knew that everything she could possibly need would be at the hotel waiting for her, courtesy of Mr. Shaw.

Several minutes after that, a young woman named Samantha Jenkins stepped from the plane, escorted by her assigned courier. Samantha found it her not to be a little overwhelmed by the entire trip. Not that long ago, she had just been a simple country girl, who had never been more than an hour from her country home. Now her she was, the sole passenger of a luxurious private jet. She shook her head in amazement at the long, black limousine that sat waiting for her. Mr. Shinobi Shaw certainly knew how to treat a lady.

"If my lady is ready," replied the courier, "the driver will take you to your hotel. It is one of the finest in Los Angeles I hear, and your ever wish shall be catered to. I trust you have everything from the plane, including your dossiers."

"Of course," mumbled Samantha, absentmindedly. Shaw had thrown out quite a red carpet. A little too much, as far as Samantha was concerned . She was more than a little suspicious. Samantha was here for a reason. She was here to avenger her father's death*, by killing his murderer, Oliver Queen. Shaw was funding her endeavor, for his own reasons. Samantha didn't really care, because for this endeavor, the ‘ends justify the means'. But all this luxury, all this pampering, just wasn't her style. She was a simple country girl, and she couldn't understand why Shaw had gone to so much trouble.

*(Samantha's father was the criminal archer known as Merlyn, who was killed by Oliver after he attacked, and nearly killed Oliver's family, along with his partner Black Bison)

Samantha brushed the thoughts aside, for later. "Well then, lead on sir, I am anxious for a bubble bath and some lobster."

Samantha gave in, and figured she might as well take advantage of the situation. You don't live forever, after all, she thought, so take advantage while you have the chance.

"All you fools get yo' asses in here!"

Suddenly, there was a flurry of action, as gang members scrambled quickly through every available entrance to the huge room. If there was one thing, that every single one of them knew, it was that you did not keep Holocaust waiting. Waiting pissed him off. People ended up dead, burnt to a pile of ashes that way.

Holocaust looked around the room. This bunch of punk bitches just might be enough to accomplish his goals this time. They were fair in number, and thanks to a couple of successful robberies in Beverly Hills, they had acquired enough cash to buy some sweet firepower from A.I.M.*.

*(Advanced Idea Mechanics, makers of high-tech weapons, selling them to whoever has the cash)

"Alright my ‘bruthas', listen up," bellowed Holocaust, seeing that everyone was focused on him. "You all betta' be ready, cause we gonna hit this find-raisin' thing hard. There is gonna be some serious players, with some serious bank there tonight. Lots of shiny rocks, lots of Beverly Hills folk with their fat wallets. That means lots of opportunity to load up on some serious green. Our Blood Syndicate has almost got this whole East Side in our control. This could put us over the top."

Suddenly, from the middle of the crowd, someone spoke. "Ain't there gonna be security, Holocaust?"

Holocaust's brow twisted in disgust, "Don't be a yellow, punk bitch. Of course, there is gonna be some lame-ass rent-a-cops. But they ain't got your skills, and they sure as hell ain't got your bad ass guns I got ya'. We'll beat those bitches ‘fore they know what hit ‘em."

Holocaust's bravado seemed to ignite the gang members into a frenzy. Some started yelling and screaming. High-tech guns were raised in the air. A few liquor bottles went smashing against the walls. Suddenly, then a boom box was blasting, and gangster rap was blasting from wall to wall.

Holocaust turned from the frenzied crowd, and rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a disgusted, sarcastic laugh. They were all small-time pinks, wanna-bes with petty schemes and dreams. If he lost a handful or two of them in this heist, so be it. There were always more dumb punk bitches to take their place. Holocaust knew better. Knew he was better. He was a leader. He had power. he had taken Blood Syndicate from a couple of punks peddling dope and smack on a couple of street corners, to the most powerful gang on the East Side. He had the power, and he wasn't about to relinquish it. Not that anyone could make him, he had bad ass super-powers to back his ass up.

Oh yeah, thought Holocaust to himself, as he found his bottle of Jose Cuervo where he had left it. Today was a good day.

Oliver wandered outside, walking down the garden path, to the gorgeous view of Carol's rose garden. Alone with his thoughts, he sat down on a stone bench, and admired a bush of orange roses that sat beside him. The beauty of them reminded him of Heather. Though she was probably off on some mission, saving Canada from great peril with her Alpha Flight, he wished he could pick a handful of the roses, and hand them to her. For the first time, in a long time, Oliver momentarily had the notion to settle down. He briefly glimpsed himself, building a nice house in Montana, sitting on his porch as the sun rose, then Heather walking out and sitting in his lap . . .

"Hello, daddy."

Oliver turned from his daydreaming, and saw his daughter standing before him. Oliver smiled. She was so very beautiful. She had been very lucky, and had received her mother's looks. She was tall, with long, flowing, red hair. She was thin, well muscled, but Oliver noticed she had put on a little weight from the last time he had seen her in New York.

Oliver stood from his bench and embraced his daughter tightly.

"It is good to see you honey," he said as he kissed the top of her head.

Cassandra smiled, but Oliver could see there was a hint of sadness in her eye. She was gearing up to tell him something big, he could tell.

"Where is Juan?" asked Oliver.

"He is inside talking to Alexander and Aunt Carol. I wanted a few minutes alone to talk with you, daddy."

Oliver geared up for the worst.

"Daddy, I'm pregnant."

Whatever "worst" Oliver had prepared for, this was way beyond that. Oliver's jaw dropped and he suddenly found he couldn't quite get the strings of words out.

"Who . . . when . . . where . . . "

"It was Thad, daddy, before we broke up. We used protection, but nothing is fool-proof."

Oliver continued to stand there in shock. He was too damn young. He wasn't ready to be a grandfather. He wasn't ready for his baby to have a baby. Sure, there was Lian*, but Roy was a little older, and he hadn't come from Oliver's loins. This was his little baby, and she was having a baby . . .

*(Lian is Roy Harper's son, and Roy is an adopted son of Oliver)

Cassandra began to cry. "I am sorry, daddy, I know you are disappointed in me . . . "

With that line, Oliver quickly came back to his senses, back to reality.

"No, honey," said Oliver, pulling his daughter tighter. "I am not disappointed in you. I don't think I could ever be disappointed in you, Cassie. This is just a little shocking . . . "

"It was for me too, daddy . . . "

"Yes," said Oliver, half-laughing, "I suppose it was. Cassie, I love you no matter what. I am always for another addition to our happy family. Guess this means that you better stick in school though. It is a lot easier to be a doctor than it is a globe-trotting adventurer with a baby to feed and burp and change . . . "

Oliver saw his daughter smile, and rejoiced as she pulled him tighter, hugging in a grip that nearly sucked all the air from his lungs.

Well, thought Oliver as the two walked back towards the house, this certainly is turning out to be a very interesting trip. I wonder what else could possibly happen . . .