This is my first time writing in the "Arrow" fandom. I hope that it is well received, please review.
It takes place shortly after Season Two's finale, so expect to see a lot of clean-up. Anyone who can guess the comic-book identities of characters who show up will get a prize!
Disclaimer: I do not own "Arrow" or "DC Comics".
The best place to run when you didn't want cops to follow you was a back-alley in the Glades. Even the rookies wearing the blue had heard the stories of gangbangers who wanted to make a name for themselves setting up ambushes. A dead-end, easy collar for a perp who 'forgot' about a brick wall was turned into a slaughter when two or three of his crew on the fire-escape or behind a dumpster open fired down or from behind with automatics.
It was starting to occur to this particular criminal, an experienced mugger and burglar, that the people chasing him weren't police at all.
Police didn't fire arrows at you. The vigilante freak in the hood did, but he worked alone. He was suppose to work alone.
He was suppose to go after the big criminal masterminds and terrorists for that matter, not after small-time crooks.
This wasn't the police, this wasn't the vigilante. He didn't know what these people were supposed to be. Nobody ever chased him this far for this long.
At least, no one chased him this far and this long without saying anything.
Not a single word.
Not 'stop'.
Not 'freeze'.
Not a single curse or demand, just silence and running.
He wasn't smart, he never had been. He survived this long in the Glades because instinct and speed, preying off the inattentive and the weaker people.
And now he instinctively knew that they weren't calling out, they weren't calling attention to themselves, because they didn't plan on arresting him or hurting him.
"It doesn't make any sense... come on, come on! You guys can't be this crazy!?" He was out of breath, his ankle had rolled after a bad stumble, he was nearly laughing from the absurdity of it all. He was a nobody, and these guys treated him like Public Enemy Number One.
A nobody dying in the Glades meant nothing, but like this? No, this was a message. No one wanted be a 'message' to the rest of the city.
"Come on, please-!"
But they payed no heed, and there was an explosion of pain in his leg. And the smell of kerosene-
"No no please NO!"
ARROW
Original Sin
The police arrived about twenty to thirty minutes too late.
It was a new record for the Glades.
It didn't even start as a murder call, it was a complaint about the smell. The Goddamn smell. Only one patrol car was sent out to investigate, though of course they had some trepidation about it. That part of the city, mysterious smells that was driving the rodents away, that was bad enough to make the normally apathetic Glades residents queasy? Had to be bad news.
No one expected it to be bad enough that the new Captain had to be phoned in. Least of all said Captain. But when called, Captain Lance answered.
"What've we got?" He demanded brusquely. One hand out, one beat-cop delivered it a paper cup filled near the brim with life-saving coffee. He had been trying to quit, or at least cut back, but it was no use. Caffeine was too good a vice to shake even with a heart-condition, and his line of work practically made it a necessity.
"Body sir," one of the on-site officers needlessly confirmed, looking queasy. Must be a newbie. Poor kid probably was a transfer. "Looks like a crispy-fritter... Jesus..."
Captain Lance grimaced. Definitely new, and with that accent? He had this kid pegged as a Central City, maybe even as far as Metropolis transfer. Why anyone would willingly transfer from Metropolis or Central, he wouldn't be able to guess. Probably would look at the kid's record later. "Keep it together." Cpt. Quentin Lance sipped his coffee. "Any idea who the latest casualty might be?"
"No sir, we found three wallets on him though."
"Only three huh? Must have been a slow night for an enterprising young snatcher."
"Do you suppose it was enough to get him killed sir?"
"What do you think?"
"... I don't think so sir, it was far too..."
"It's overkill, even for this city, even for the glades."
"We did find an arrow in his leg sir."
That was not good. "And?"
"Could it be the Hood sir? The vigilante-?"
"No," Quentin grimaced. He said that too quick, now they were all staring at him like a bunch of chumps. "It's not his MO, he doesn't kill anymore."
"Sir-?"
"-and even if he did, the fire is a new touch. Doesn't fit any of his old patterns," he thought about that. "Not at all... where's the arrow?"
"In his leg sir... we think it must have broken off, when he tried to run. Otherwise it's too short-"
"-it's in him."
"I... yes, we know sir, it's-"
"No no kid, listen," Quentin corrected sharply, but gently. Since the Earthquake and the masked riots, they needed all the help they could get, and that included fresh-faces from Metropolis or whatever. Wouldn't do to get this kid spooked. "Not even a track-star could get to moving with an arrow right in the thigh like that, believe me. That's a crippler shot if I've ever come across one. No way it broke off or anything either... whole shaft, that's what we're looking at here, the bit sticking out that's the... feather things-"
"Fletching sir-"
"-right right, whatever... crossbow. Someone shot this sad sack down with a crossbow. Great, just what we all need..."
He shook his head, and turned to where the technicians were snapping pictures of recent graffiti on the wall of the alleyway. "That," Quentin remarked, slowly. "Also ain't part of the Arrow's MO. What is that, blood?"
"We checked sir, it's just paint. You recognize the-?"
"-not a gang sign I've heard of, and I've heard of them all, rookie. Looks like they wanted to make a Celtic cross, you know, circle around the... places there." He considered the sign, the cross that had a careful half-circle inside, trying to make sense of it. "Nope... nothing."
"Sir?"
"This is new. My bet, they were trying to finish up some crackpot religious message, and then they got spooked when they heard sirens, scattered out of here like speed-freak roaches." Steadily he considered the walls, the fire-escapes, the dirty windows up top at the second story, the overstuffed gutters by the roof. "About five to six years ago, we had a trouble-spot just like this. Lowlives would lure a cop in and he'd have buddies on the roof or on the escape open-fire. Goddamn bloodbath. I'll check the roof, I want analysis on that paint, look through anything that might clue us in on why this guy got picked to be made a sizzler, and trace the make of that crossbow arrow."
"Bolt, sir. It's called a bolt if it's from a crossbow."
"Crosses, crossbows, bolts, and a guy on fire, this is a lovely evening... your name kid?"
"Fletcher sir."
"Fletcher who knows about arrows." Quentin snorted. "You look into the bolt. Got it?"
"Yes sir. Captain sir." Officer Fletcher headed off, the rest of the team did likewise, securing the area or categorizing every detail of the scene.
Which left Quentin Lance able to surreptitiously dump the remains of his coffee cup and make the trek up stairwell onto the roof. For a moment, he wasn't sure that the Arrow would show, and maybe he was giving the hooded vigilante too much credit-
"-this murder involved an arrow."
Quentin flinched, clutched his chest. "Jesus H. Christ-!"
"-me and my people were not involved." That voice modulator was still freaky, but Quentin figured he should be getting used to being surprised by the guy dressed like Robin Hood went biker-chic.
"Didn't figure you did, but for god's sake you gave me a freakin' heart-attack..." Damn, that was a poor choice of words. He checked his pocket for the pills, just to make sure they were there, focused on his breathing, getting it under control.
"Last thing I would want... city needs good cops more than ever." Hard to tell with that hood, but the guy looked almost sorry about something.
"Yeah, well, still doesn't seem like enough sometimes. Brought in a bunch of new people, but I don't know if half of them can make the cut. Bunch of fresh-faces straight out of campus police from their colleges, kids really."
"And they have... reservations about my activities."
"Yeah, but any cop would," Quentin shrugged. "I know I sure did, I'll straighten things out with the new people. The arrow's shaky evidence as it is, looked like a cross-bolt. And found graffiti, looked like a half-finished Cross. Religious nuts aren't really the latest flavor of Starling City, especially the Glades."
"I'll look into it."
"Don't know what did it in for these people... but the word is that there's no resurrections in the Glades, that it's God's freakin' blind-spot. Way things have been happening recently? I'm starting to take that pretty serious..."
The Arrow wasn't there behind him though when he turned around. Quentin looked around hastily, called out, "Hey! HEY!"
Just as suddenly, the green-hooded roof-hopper was back, ducking out from behind a ledge. "What is it Captain? I can't afford to waste time."
"Well, then you better listen up: not a whole lota Churches left in the Glades, but there is one. I got an unmarked patrol-car keeping an eye on it, but I can pull it off tonight if you don't want to avoid anything unpleasant. That sound good to you? You still wanna be smart about this?"
The Arrow looked annoyed, from what Quentin could tell from what was peaking out of that forest-green hood, and a little embarrassed. Good. So he was human afterall. It helped to have these little reminders. "That would be appreciated."
"I thought so too, ya'know?" Shaking his head, Quentin Lance marched back down the stairs, going down back to the crime-scene to close off this building. "And don't do that, just disappear in the middle of a conversation like that. Who does that? Nobody does that, it's just plain rude..."
There will be more... what is this mysterious symbol?
Would Quentin Lance be as helpful an ally if he knew his daughter Sara was dead?
And what changes are in store for Starling City, and for Team Arrow?
Well, find out next time. And thanks to all of you who support this first "Arrow" fanfic. Please review.