Tommy had no idea that his best friend was out on Lian Yu, getting beaten half to death by the terrifying Yao Fei. All he knew was that his day had been one disaster after another.
Malcolm, perhaps inspired by Thea's recent progress, decided to "test" his son's problem-solving skills. So he kept sending subordinates to Tommy's desk with file after file:
"Assistant, the CEO wants your opinion on this report."
"Assistant, here's the next fiscal year's budget—review it and report to Finance."
"Assistant, one of our employees has been detained; Legal wants to know if we should post bail."
By noon, the paperwork had practically buried him. Tommy was bewildered—why does this company have so many problems? Isn't someone already paid to handle all this?
He forced himself to try. Reporting to the CEO? That was his dad—hard pass. He'd save that for last. The budget file? Fifteen pages in, and he barely made it through the first before nodding off.
After splashing cold water on his face, he picked up the bail file. At least that one sounded straightforward. Besides, Detective Lance was Laurel's father—future father-in-law, maybe. What could go wrong?
Everything.
There was no emotional "father-and-son-in-law reunion." Detective Lance wasn't about to bend the rules. The moment he saw Tommy, he thought of Oliver—who had once "run off" with his younger daughter—and his mood soured instantly. Now the same playboy was chasing his older daughter. The man barely stopped himself from cuffing Tommy on sight.
By the end of the day, Tommy felt utterly defeated.
Malcolm, hearing of his son's misadventures, didn't lose hope. He simply set a personal goal: one month of observation. He had money to burn, didn't care about the company's profits, and wanted to see if his son could grow at all. Then he turned his attention to testing his daughter's courage.
Thea hadn't had it easy either. The fusion of two souls had sharpened her mind, her focus, her memory—but Queen Consolidated was a monster of a corporation. Even Thea 2.0 could only just keep up.
Moira, loving yet ruthless, had deliberately tripled her daughter's workload. She wanted to see Thea's limits. To her delight, Thea exceeded every expectation, and Moira's pride in her only grew stronger.
That evening, Thea walked down a quiet street with two bodyguards, returning from a branch visit. The Queen mansion wasn't far, so she skipped the car, reviewing tomorrow's tasks in her mind.
Then she felt it—a subtle shift in the air, the instinctive chill of being watched. The street was too still.
"Stop," she whispered. "That tree ahead—check it."
Hidden behind the tree, Malcolm Merlyn, clad in black and armed with a bow, froze in surprise. His stealth was flawless—honed under the League of Assassins. The ex-special-forces guards hadn't noticed him at all. Yet Thea, untrained, had sensed him.
Incredible.
Only one other person he'd ever known possessed that kind of natural awareness—Lady Shiva, the world's greatest assassin.
Pride flickered in his chest. This was his daughter.
Moving quickly, he flicked two darts—both guards collapsed soundlessly. Activating his voice modulator, he stepped from behind the tree. Tonight, he would test not her skill, but her nerve.
Thea's eyes widened as her guards dropped. A black-clad figure emerged from the shadows, bow in hand. League of Assassins? she thought—then instantly recognized the build, the stance. Oh, come on. Dad, I've seen the show. You think I won't recognize you just because you changed outfits?
Still, she played along. "Who are you?" she asked evenly.
"My identity doesn't matter," came the rasp through the modulator. "Do you know how much your life is worth?"
Nice voice changer, she thought. Everyone from Batman to Bane has one. Maybe I should buy one too—if it's not too expensive. My allowance is terrible.
Seeing he expected an answer, she said, "I can feel you mean no harm—at least, not to kill."
He blinked beneath the mask. Impressive intuition. "You're perceptive. Tell me—what do you desire most?"
What kind of RPG dialogue is this? she mused. But she recognized the test. He was playing a part, pretending to be someone else. He wanted to hear her say it. Raising her chin, she declared,
"I want strength—to protect my family and myself. It's too hard for a woman to survive in this world. I need real power!"
The words hit Malcolm like a shockwave. She sounded exactly like him, years ago. If only he'd had that resolve back then, maybe his wife wouldn't have died.
He asked one final question—the one that had defined his own life:
"Power must be earned through sacrifice. Would you give up your wealth for it? I hear you've been doing well at the company—earning quite the praise. Could you walk away from all of that?"
Thea almost rolled her eyes. That company's going to be mine anyway. I've been killing myself at work just to get your attention. Did you really think I'm here to 'serve the people' and 'advance productivity'?
Out loud, she only hesitated briefly, then said,
"Money can become power—but what I need is my own strength. I'm too fragile now. One bullet, one knife, and everything could be gone. I have to change that."
Malcolm's heart pounded. His wife had died in the Glades over a few hundred dollars—just like Bruce Wayne's parents before her. In a world where the poor killed the kind, compassion was a fatal flaw. Hearing Thea's conviction now brought the pain roaring back.
Barely able to contain his emotion, he rasped through the modulator,
"Come here tomorrow. I'll teach you."
Then, before his composure cracked, he turned and vanished into the darkness.
Thea stared after him, the night air still and heavy. Her bodyguards were unconscious on the ground. She sighed.
"Great," she muttered. "Guess I'm getting a mysterious mentor now."
Adjusting her jacket, she added under her breath,
"Seriously, Dad… next time, just text me."