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Bethany Jenson was a very lucky woman. Since childhood, everything dangerous had a way of bypassing her. Throughout her life, she had narrowly escaped being run over by a drunk driver quite a few times. When she was in high school there was a school shooting in the one week of the year she was home due to sickness. After completing her second year at university while studying for her Business Management degree, two days after she moved back home for the summer, the student dorms she had been living in had burned down due to a cigarette forgotten in the wrong place. About a hundred students were injured, though no one she knew. About two years ago, as she was leaving her friend's house in the Glades to go home, she was attacked, which might have broken the trend if it weren't for a timely rescue by Mr. Merlyn who was passing by.
Though shook and quite rumpled, she was otherwise fine, and when her rescuer offered to escort her home, she quietly accepted. As they were walking along - it really wasn't that far to her flat - they got to talking. And in the way that things sometimes just work out, talk turned to her work experience - quite good for her age - and it came up after a bit of prodding that she was currently quietly looking to change employers. Oh, nothing was wrong with her employer, of course not, but her colleagues had for the past few months taken a turn decisively for the toxic, and as she was already quite ready to look for an opportunity that would give her more room to grow and take more responsibility, she had decided to take the plunge so to say. One thing leads to another, and by the time he takes his leave in front of her building, she has agreed to write Merlyn Global's HR department to apply for a job. A few months later, after passing a background check and some rigorous training in the way the company does things, she was accepted as Mr. Merlyn's personal executive secretary. She hadn't looked back since.
Mr. Merlyn kept strange hours. Or at least she thought they were strange. She knew that as CEO he was supposed to be there at times other people had long since gone home. She didn't envy him that. Though her own hours were quite long too, she had enough time to herself to still be happy, and at least they were consistent, so when she made plans, they were not disrupted due to work, as her friend Mary constantly bemoaned her other friend's were, as he worked for the Starling City Police Department. Bethany hadn't met him, and she didn't want to either. She'd seen enough of S.C.P.D. when they were suspecting her sweet brother Kyle of some random murder based on some random evidence. It was so obvious he would never be capable of that. Not her sweet little brother. S.C.P.D. really didn't know what they were doing, and she'd rather keep well away from any such people.
Mr. Merlyn had a very busy schedule. Many people were interested in doing business with him, and some people he had to meet face-to-face in the course of their duties. And then there were the people he himself invited, though only after doing this job for a year had she noticed that even this group should actually be spread into two separate groups - those he invited because it was expected by social conventions that he do, and those he actually wanted to talk to. She had been surprised she hadn't noticed it in the first few months, as she wasn't usually easy to fool with such things, but had eventually, after a few weeks of observation, armed with this new knowledge, decided it was because Mr. Merlyn was just that good an actor. But overall, his behavior was quite consistent and his wishes mostly easy to anticipate. He was polite and didn't attempt to micromanage as she knew so many other employers tended to do. Nor was he expecting miracles as some did, when they didn't have a clue as to what was possible and what was not. So, when on an ordinary day everything took a course for the decidedly unordinary, it was reason for concern.
It was nearing noon, and she was only just beginning to think of her lunch break in about an hour, when Mr. Merlyn stepped out of his office in a rather more abrupt manner then his habitual slow movements. This impression was rather solidified when he took a few quick steps from that door to her desk.
"There is a woman at the reception desk. Pull up the security camera footage for RA-3," he said abruptly, coming to stand beside her so they could both see the screen.
RA-3, that was Reception Area, camera 3, which gave a view of the reception desk which included both Clara at her desk, and a tall, brunette woman standing in front of her. Surveillance cameras really were not meant for guessing someone's age. If Bethany had to describe that posture though, then on the first impression alone, she would say dignified, but somehow trying too hard. Though that might just be her impression. She really was not that knowledgeable of the mannerisms of every part of the world. Maybe somewhere in the world that particular way of holding her head high and back straight was considered polite, or dignified, or confident, or anything else for that matter. It was apparent that there was a conflict between the woman and Clara, with Clara displaying frightened behavior. It seemed that the role of receptionist might not be suitable to dear Clara after all. She had warned her of the job description when the girl applied.
"Call Miss Blink," Mr. Merlyn cut into her thoughts. Bethany thought his voice was tense. A quick glance showed she was right; the tension showed in his body as well. "Tell her to let her up. Let her use the Executive elevator."
Well, that was surprising. They had at least a few people every week, trying to get in without an appointment. They were all decisively rejected and told to make an appointment. About one in six actually made an appointment. And the waiting list was three months long.
"Tell Miss Blink she is not to be kept waiting ever again." Even more surprising. But urgent it seemed. She reached quickly for the intercom button.
“Clara, Mister Merlyn will see the young lady. Send her up on the Executive elevator now, please.” Poor for telling someone's age they might be, but the camera could forward the sudden paleness of the receptionist's face quite clearly.
“Oh, and Clara?” Bethany added after a suitable pause was held. “She is not to be delayed at the front desk ever again.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Clara answered quickly, as she was rising. The cameras showed the pair moving deeper into the building, out of RA-3's visual range.
Bethany turned to her employer, to see that he had stepped back and contrary to what she had expected was not retreating into his tastefully decorated office to sit behind his magnificent desk. Instead, he stepped out from behind her desk, and walked to the elevator, stopping about four steps from the doors. She quickly joined him, as was proper of a secretary, to stand right before the doors so she could still greet Mr. Merlyn's guest before the man himself. Occupational social niceties were important.
She could see from the corner of her eye as he ran his hands over the lapels of his suit as if to straighten them. She had eventually coined that as his nervousness tell. Well, now she was nervous. Mr. Merlyn was the most composed person she knew. She very rarely saw him display any nervousness at all, and never due to another person. What could it be about that young woman that made him act like this? Maybe Bethany had indeed been wrong before in her assessment and the woman wasn't actually insecure in her station. Maybe she's royalty of some kind? Royalty had some weird behavioral norms, didn't they? But Malcolm Merlyn didn't seem the sort of person to be all that impressed by royalty. Bethany had seen Mr. Merlyn be completely sure of himself when talking to Moira Queen, and that's as good as royalty any day. And the various US Presidents also didn't act very awe worthy that she had seen on television, so she didn't see how someone of that station could be the cause of this anxiety. The screen above the elevator doors showed that it would be arriving in only a few seconds, so Bethany pulled herself together and tried to smile welcomingly.
“Welcome to Starling City, Nyssa,” Mr. Merlyn greeted the stranger with a smile, before she herself could greet the guest. Bethany felt awkward for a moment before quickly repressing it. Abandoning one social norm didn’t dictate the abandonment of another. And then he did something really weird. Some sort of bow, she thought, bewildered. Maybe she was royalty. Bethany couldn't think of any other situation in which a bow was called for in this day and age. “This is an unexpected honor.” With those words and such body language as he was displaying, he had seemingly - unexpectedly - put himself willingly and decisively in the servile position in this relationship. Unexpectedly, because normally when talking with anyone in this office - or elsewhere, that she had observed - he very clearly established himself as in charge of those interaction. This feeling of off-balance strangeness compounded when instead of responding, the woman - Nyssa, Mr. Merlyn called her - nodded imperiously and walked into her employer's office as though it was her own. Seeing Mr. Merlyn quietly follow at her shoulder was jarring.
When Miss Nyssa turned to look at her once in the office, she finally found her tongue.
“Can I get you anything, miss?” Bethany asked. She tried to keep the anxiousness out of her voice. “Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“No,” Miss Nyssa refused politely. “Thank you.”
“Hold my calls, Bethany,” Merlyn told her when she looked to see if she could do anything for him. “And reschedule my upcoming meetings as well. Until I say otherwise.”
“Of course, Mister Merlyn.” It seemed that three month waiting list was about to become longer by about a week. It would be unrealistic to push them to the very end of that list, and even more unrealistic to push everyone back a day, so some compromises had to be found. She would have to go through today's group with Mr. Merlyn so he could confirm her decisions of who to send to the end of the line, and who to fit in around his other duties closer to this time. That senator who was supposed to come after lunch time was sure to be a nuisance. If only he knew how many other people also thought themselves to be God’s gift to mankind.
“That’ll be all.”
“Yes, sir.”
She returned to her desk as quickly and quietly as she could. She sat down on her wonderfully comfortable, aesthetically pleasing chair, and booted up a program she had only used a few times before.
Mr. Merlyn knew that he sometimes had shady characters coming to meet with him. In violent situations it was good if security could be quickly alerted to the problem. It was company policy that if she had cause to believe Mr. Merlyn was in danger, she was to check the listening device in his office, determine if she was right, and then alert security. It was essential that she be the intermediary between his office and the security department itself so that the flow of information could be better controlled. Security didn't need to know everything going on in his office, and besides, she was in a better position to assess the need. As it was, whenever she used this program, Mr. Merlyn would get a silent alert on his computer. She put on the headset designated for this purpose.
There was a moment of silence. Then, “You have been active recently,” Miss Nyssa's voice came to her earphones, “Here. In this city.” Well, that was strange. He lived and worked here. Of course, he was active. Did she mean something else? In any case, that sounded vaguely threatening but nothing a semi-corrupt businessman didn't do once a week anyway.
“I have. Out of necessity,” he clarified. Okay, seemed they were speaking of something she couldn't currently guess at. “I believed that a man who places himself above the law was a threat to all the people of this city. I attempted to handle him myself, but our brief confrontation proved to me that he was not the great threat that I had, at first, feared.” Definitely something strange going on. Could he be speaking of a corrupt businessman thinking they were above the law? Something like all those businesses that utilized slave labor to produce cheap product? Maybe something like that on a local level? But how did that fit with Mr. Merlyn operating in this city when it seemed for the purposes of this conversation that he shouldn't be doing so? Strong arm tactics, then?
“Should Ra’s al Ghul wish him dealt with regardless, I would of course—”
“You let him go?” Nyssa interrupted, her tone even.
“I did.”
“Why?” Why what? Why didn't he call the appropriate authorities once uncovering his corruption?
“My short scrap with him assured me that he was not the threat that I’d feared he was. Therefore, I judged it prudent not to kill him in this city without the permission of Ra’s al Ghul.” …Okay, what? If this was still a corrupt businessman they were talking about, it was still talk of Mr. Merlyn killing someone. In this city. Because that was apparently an important factor. This city? Why was Starling city in any way relevant to if someone should be killed? And as for Mr. Merlyn's choice of words... Well, he had a habit of minimizing. When he says short scrap, or brief confrontation, Bethany can only assume it was quite an understatement. What of this Razal Ghul character? He had been mentioned repeatedly.
“Does Ra’s al Ghul wish—”
“Ra’s al Ghul would have you remember your oaths,” Nyssa cut him off sternly. And what, was this the second time she had heard her cutting him off with no noticeable reaction from the usually proud Mr. Merlyn. “All of them, Al-Sāḥir.” What was that? It sounded like a name, but not any she could recognize.
“I forget nothing,” Mr. Merlyn objected. “Especially not my oaths.” Seemed like it was another name for him, from the context. Strange, all this strangeness was bringing her thoughts to conspiracies she normally found beneath her.
“Starling City is the home of an Honored One, and therefore under the League’s protection,” Nyssa said. “You know this.” So, some sort of reason for why the location mattered. Not a very clear one, but something to work from.
“I was informed of the special circumstances when the Honored One chose to live here,” Mr. Merlyn acknowledged. “That is why I acted against the Vigilante.” Wait, what? she asked herself, suddenly feeling cold.
“Without permission.” So, trusting her instincts, Mr. Merlyn had gotten in a fight with the Vigilante of Starling city, because apparently, he had, and had come out alive. Miss Nyssa was here because Mr. Merlyn was not supposed to have done that according to this Razal Ghul person, that for some reason he was answerable to. Because someone specific that was Honored - capital H - lived here. Miss Nyssa was an enforcer that was above Mr. Merlyn in a mysterious hierarchy and was here to either take him to task or to listen to his answers and then report them back.
“As you just said, this city is under the League’s protection. I did not think that acting in its defense was therefore something I needed to ask permission for,” Mr. Merlyn answered calmly. “If I was in error, I can only apologize.” For some reason the second half was slightly muffled, which was slightly of concern.
“You were in error,” Nyssa answered him coolly. “And you may yet answer to Ra’s al Ghul for your… mistake.” It was sounding as though the slightly better option was correct and Miss Nyssa was only here to collect his statement, as it were.
Right after this was said, there was a rustle of fabric. Then there was a small period of silence.
There came a sigh that was just barely distinguishable from the audio.
“But that is not why I am here now.” Well, that was a lengthy introduction, then, lady. And it didn't exactly sound like an icebreaker, or context description, or social niceties, as most introductions were. That sounded like either power abuse, or a personal grudge. If it was the latter, in which way was it personal?
“It’s not?”
“No. A traitor has fled from Nanda Parbat, and now seeks to slay an Honored One.” Nanda Parbat, some kind of prison, or headquarters, maybe?
“The same Honored One that also lives here in Starling City?” he realized. So there were multiple Honored ones and the city they lived in was in some way "protected".
“I cannot offer to guard one whose identity remains a mystery,” Mr. Merlyn pointed out. “Am I to be granted an introduction?”
“That will not be necessary,” Nyssa told him firmly. “The Honored One has been warned, and will be protected.”
“Of course. Then how may I serve?” he asked again.
“We have been betrayed,” Nyssa repeated. So, there was something to betray. Those oaths they mentioned? “You were acquainted with Al-Tamsah during your time at Nanda Parbat.” Likely headquarters, then. Mr. Merlyn didn’t seem the type to be in prison. And anyway, there has been no mention of him being a “traitor”. Al Tamsah was the "traitor".
“We met,” Merlyn confirmed, hesitating half a moment before he went on. “Twice, I believe. Both times at Nanda Parbat, yes. We never worked or trained together.”
A silence.
“I have resources throughout the city,” Mr. Merlyn offered a moment later when she said nothing. “All are, of course, at your disposal. As am I, in whatever capacity I may best serve.” All these silences made Bethany think her initial impression of insecurity might have been right after all. Might be a young, recently recruited enforcer, but that didn't explain how someone so young - a woman, for all she didn't like thinking like that - had achieved a rank higher than someone about twice her age, and so successful at that. Connections, probably. But then why would Mr. Merlyn lower himself to such a servile position if she didn't actually deserve her rank? And if she did deserve it, why the insecurity? Is her authentic personality not suited to an oversight position?
Finally, Enforcer Nyssa answered the question. Bethany had heard that answering someone's question in your own time was a power move. Perhaps Nyssa just hadn't perfected it yet.
Find Al-Tamsah,” Nyssa told him. “And you will answer this.” There was no mention made of what he was to answer. As there was no question forthcoming, she assumed it was a communicator of some kind.
“I am recalled to duty?” he asked.
“No,”
Nyssa continued firmly, “You are being offered this chance, Al-Sāḥir, to make amends.” There's that name again. And taking into account that there is also that other Al-something, the traitor, she meant, it seemed to reason that they were names connected to this League of theirs.
“Words cannot express how much I appreciate this opportunity.”
“No,” Nyssa agreed. “Only actions can.” Anyway, it was becoming clear that Mr. Merlyn was not in danger that Security could currently help. Though maybe she should alert someone of a possible threat later down the line?
Merlyn nodded again. “I will await my instructions from Nanda Parbat.”
“That is not this device’s purpose,” Enforcer Nyssa corrected. “While we will be able to contact you thus if such speed proves necessary.” Keeping others guessing is also a power move, but this was poorly executed as well. She was slowly giving power in the relationship to Mr. Merlyn, likely without her recognizing it.
“This opportunity has been given to you by the mercy of the Honored One whom you have offended,” Nyssa said seriously. “The Honored One will contact you if they have need of your service. Or we will.”
“And I will be most deeply honored to serve,” Mr. Merlyn said respectfully.
A pause. “You have not earned the honor of meeting the Honored One or knowing her name, Al-Sāḥir, but I will remind you that she is one of the most highly honored. Her wishes are to be taken as the will of Ra’s al Ghul himself.”
“I understand,” Merlyn replied, waiting only a moment before he asked her, “Are there any other tasks I might complete to make my amends to your father?” Her father? So the father was the connection that gave her the rank she had? And she had not proven herself yet, so she "ruled" only at her father's sufferance?
“No. Not at this time.”
“Do not forget what the word of Ra’s al Ghul means again, Al-Sāḥir. You will not receive a second warning.”
“I do not forget,” he answered calmly.
After a moment, “You have a less public exit.”
“Of course.” There were steps.
“This way,” he said, followed by the sound of steps.
This conversation had really been quite something. In parts confusing, and disturbing, but the overall picture was somewhat clear. Mr. Merlyn was a member of a "League" of some kind. There was fighting and killing involved. Mr. Merlyn fighting and killing people. Presumably those people this Razal Ghul - probably very high in the hierarchy - had sanctioned the fighting and killing of. They seemed used to policing their own; there had been no surprise that Bethany could spot when Enforcer Nyssa had implied they - whoever they were - were in the city to hunt down the traitor. Mr. Merlyn's only question in that regard had been regarding his own role in that hunt. Mister Merlyn who would kill someone - including the Starling City Vigilante, who at one point saved his life - at the behest of Razal Ghul. Bethany didn't know what to do with that. Logic said she should go to the police. But the police were useless, and anyway, what's to stop Mr. Merlyn from killing them all or from bribing the important ones who decide things. He had the resources after all. And now that she thought about it, she didn't actually know that he had done something wrong. Mr. Merlyn had explicitly said that he hadn't killed the Vigilante as he had judged it unnecessary. And Razal Ghul had forbidden it. But he had still judged it unnecessary. Didn't people judge every day that killing people who annoy or hurt you is unnecessary and has too many consequences? Such as jail or the death penalty. And people were forbidden from killing other people by laws. Wasn't that basically the same thing? The way they were talking, she wouldn't be surprised if they said "Razal Ghul's will is law" or something.
Yes. Meaning, there was no need to say anything and risk her job and paycheck. Or tell anyone about the goings on of the man who rescued her in the Glades. No reason at all.
The phone rang. She picked it up after it had rang the predetermined two times.
“You have reached Merlyn Global, Bethany Jenson speaking, how can I help you?”
That evening, she left work as usual, at 6.30pm, and started on the way home to her flat. There she was, going over the chores she would have to still do today, when she heard an unexpected noise. She turned to look and felt her heart jump to her throat as she identified the noise as coming from a truck, going much too fast, and judging by those headlights, it was coming straight at h-