"I don't want to be called the Hood anymore."
It had been a few days since he had gotten back to Starling, and only a matter of hours since he had rescued his sister. And still, Oliver Queen was trying to fully commit himself to the idea of donning the hood once again. So many thoughts flitted through his mind. He had been a murderer in that hood, a necessary killer certainly, as his actions had proved, but a killer nonetheless. He had only tackled the city's symptoms on the surface, neglecting its festering heart and allowing the damage to grow, while all he did was mop up the overspill. He had allowed Malcolm Merlyn to continue in his plans unopposed, and had only moved to stop him when it was too late. He should have searched longer, he should have fought harder. If he had, then maybe the Undertaking could have been prevented. Maybe the 503 people killed during the earthquake would still be alive. Maybe Tommy wouldn't have died.
Tommy… His death plagued Oliver constantly. The loss of his friend, the loss of his brother. It was like losing a limb, like having a chunk of his heart ripped out before his eyes. The pain he had lived with for the past five months had been almost unbearable, and had pushed him away from everyone and everything. He didn't want to risk something like that ever again. He had lost so much since the Gambit disappeared beneath the waves. Tommy had pushed him right to the edge, and he knew that there was no way he could survive something like that again without losing himself completely. He was already carrying so much on his shoulders, it wouldn't take much to utterly crush him.
"Ok." Diggle's deep voice pulled him out of his emotional nosedive. "So, what do you want to be called?"
Shaken out of his head, Oliver quickly took in the two other members of his team, stood across from him. Diggle and Felicity, the brains and heart of this entire operation. He was glad that they had come after him, glad that they had brought him back to Starling when they did. And, deep down, he knew that they were right. The city still needed saving. It still needed someone to stand up for it. But, that didn't have to mean killing. He had proved that the night before, and, in that moment, his doubt cleared.
Both he and Tommy had loved Starling, growing up in the great concrete jungle. And now, he would honour Tommy's memory, honour the bravery he had held at the end, by defending his city. His home.
As he looked down at the arrow he had clenched in his hand, his mind began to kick back into gear. Diggle's question drifted to the front of his mind. The Hood was a name associated with fear, drenched in blood and death. Eyes wandering over the razor-sharp arrowhead, a new name came to him. One that had the potential to pull this city back from the brink, to succeed where the Hood never could.
Oliver Queen was the Arrow. And he had a lot of work to do.
Suddenly, the computer behind him let out a noise, a bleeping alarm that snapped him from his thoughts.
"What's that?" He asked, placing the arrow on a nearby table as he moved closer to see. He was slowed down, however, by Felicity. The woman had become a blonde rocket, racing by him and crashing into her chair, sitting before the alarm.
"This…" she began, stopping for a second as she seemed to be thinking about what came next, something that Oliver was unused to in the blonde, "…is another surprise for you."
Oliver's brow furrowed at the vague statement, his gaze flitting over his two friends quickly. Felicity's face was a mixture of apprehension and excitement, while Diggle was as stoic as ever. The archer was surprised, however, to see a faint glint of the same excitement in the bodyguard's eyes, along with a hint of… respect?
"Ok then. What's this one?" Whatever it was, the looks on his friends' faces certainly served to pique Oliver's curiosity.
"It's not a what." Felicity corrected him, fingers flying across the keyboard as she brought up a grainy video feed from a security camera. "It's a who."
And, for the third time in as many days, Oliver felt his world shift beneath his feet.
The video was showing the interior of what seemed to be a warehouse. There were cages placed against one wall, containing dark shapes within, some moving about inside while others remained still, although all were too far into the shadows to be seen beyond their outline. Shelves partially blocked the view, although Oliver could see an armed man moving about, machine gun clutched in his hands. As the man moved in front of one of the tall shelves, something seemed to draw their focus to the ground. The man knelt, and Oliver's eyes widened slightly as a figure, dressed all in black aside from the white outline of a skull on his face, dropped down from above. The guard was almost crushed into the ground, gun clattering to the floor as their head smacked forcefully into the concrete, knocking them out. The figure didn't waste a moment, turning and leaping towards the metal shelf, clambering back up speedily and disappearing just a few seconds before another guard happened upon their fallen comrade.
Felicity hit a few more keys, and the single feed split into several, each showing a different angle of the warehouse. Oliver's eyes flicked over each screen, watching as the figure appeared behind another guard. The guard's head was smashed into a nearby metal strut, before the figure spun them around and kneed the stunned man in the stomach, slamming an elbow into his back as he doubled over. The figure knelt, and Oliver could see them removing the clip from the guard's gun, tossing it away with a sharp flick of the wrist, before the hands began to run over the downed body, seemingly searching for something. The work was brought to an abrupt halt, however, and the masked head turned quickly, seeming to hear something before darting forward, into the view of another camera. And in front of the rest of the guards.
What happened next seemed to drag on for hours to Oliver, but in reality was over in the space of a minute. The armed guards, numbering just over half a dozen, raised their weapons to fire. Before they could, the figure grabbed at the barrel of the nearest gun, forcing it up towards the ceiling and using it to pull them closer to the weapon's owner. With a grip around the man's throat, the figure spun them both, the guard now being used as a shield against the storm of lead that was ready to be unleashed at any second. There was no audio, but the sight of the guard's overly twisted arm left Oliver in no doubt about the bone's fractured state. The figure now had the guard-turned-hostage's gun, and swung the weapon around in an arc, finger tightening on the trigger. Bullets flew through the air, with the other guards diving to the ground as they scrambled to avoid the tiny yet lethal projectiles. One fell with a sharp spin, one hand moving quickly to his now-crimson shoulder, while a further three lost their grip in the confusion, weapons slipping easily from their hands and falling away, leaving their former bearer's defenceless. The barrage continued for a few seconds, with one of the cameras suddenly going dark as it fell victim to one of the wild shots. Eventually, the figure tossed the empty gun away, free hand now being used to subdue his 'shield' before dropping them limply to the ground, and began to move again.
And now came the real fight.
The guards were only just picking themselves up from the ground when the figure reached the nearest one. Sliding across the floor, their legs swept the guard off his feet once again, crashing down to the ground on his back. A swift punch to the face kept him down, blood slowly beginning to leak out of his clearly broken nose. Leaping to a standing position, the figure quickly reached into their pockets, drawing out two long metal sticks from their confines. The pair were simplistic in nature, grey steel with a few straps wrapped around one end for rudimentary grips. Oliver could only assume that they had been homemade, the materials easy enough to find and patch together. Still, they certainly served their purpose, as the figure swung them with a near perfect level of accuracy and skill. One guard was sent flying with a single strike, blood spraying from the smooth gash in the side of his head, another one following shortly after. The figure dropped closer to the ground again, sliding along the floor and between two of the remaining guards. The metal sticks tripped them over, heads slamming into the ground and leaving them dazed, long enough for the metal to swing back around and strike both on the back of the head and leave them there, bodies unmoving as blood began to slowly leak through their hair, the suppressed rising and falling of their chests the only sign that they were still alive.
There was now only one guard left, gun held shakily in his hands, and all three members of the team watched silently as the figure ran towards the solitary man, metal batons ready for action. The guard trained his gun on his approaching attacker, the distance great enough for him to squeeze down on the trigger for a second or two. They came near to the figure, but didn't seem to find their intended target, the black suited man still rushing onwards. At the last second, the gun fell to the ground as the guard looked to be deciding whether to run or fight. The figure was faster, however, slamming into the man and sending them both skidding several feet. The batons were forgotten as, while Oliver watched with a keen focus, the figure hammered their fists into the guard's face, skill and precision vanishing for a moment in favour of a brutal fury that made even Oliver's stomach twist slightly.
Finally, the blows stopped, and the figure pushed himself to his feet, staggering backwards a few steps as the adrenaline left his body, before stepping over the unconscious and heavily beaten guards. Oliver watched as the masked man moved towards the cages, stooping to pick up the discarded batons along the way and slide them back into their pockets. Reaching their destination, the figure reached down to his boot, pulling out a long, sharp looking blade. Oliver watched silently, curiosity burning through him, as the knife was driven into the cage door's lock, ripping the small object away with a harsh twist. The figure spent a minute or so doing the same for the rest of the cages, eventually slipping the tool away once the task was complete.
Slowly, the cages were pushed open from within, and Oliver couldn't stop his eyes widening at the sight of who came crawling out, either alone or in pairs. Children. Roughly two dozen kids emerged, the oldest looking to be about twelve while the youngest seemed to barely be five. It didn't take long for the truth of the situation to register. Human Trafficking. Those guards had been guarding the children, waiting to ship them off and sell them to the highest bidder. A sick feeling grew in his stomach at the realisation. Such a crime had been going on in his city, and he had done nothing. He hadn't even known about it. Memories of a nine-year-old Thea flashed in front of his eyes, and his knuckles almost turned completely white, nails digging painfully into his palms. Less than a day, and he was already reconsidering his no-killing policy.
What came next passed quite quickly, compared to the slaughter that came before it. The figure managed to gather the kids around him, and looked to be explaining something, arms waving slightly as he spoke. The group all nodded, clearly glad to be free, and soon began to move, the figure leading the huddle out of the warehouse. Oliver watched the masked man until he had vanished, the last image being of him hoisting one of the younger girls to his chest.
As Felicity shut down the camera feed to the monitor, Oliver moved back, turning to face the other two after a few seconds spent processing what he had just seen. There was a new vigilante in Starling, one who clearly knew what he was doing. And one who was a complete unknown to him.
"Who was that?" He finally asked, staring at Diggle and Felicity with a look that all but demanded answers. He didn't miss the brief glace that the two shared before answering.
"Honestly, we don't know." Diggle finally admitted, arms crossed over his chest. "Dude showed up a few months ago, began tackling crime in the Glades. We've been trying to find something on him, but all we have are the odd recording or witness statement. The guy's a damn ghost."
"When did he first start?" Oliver asked, looking to Felicity for an answer this time.
"First sightings date back to a week or so after the Undertaking." She supplied, turning to the computers and bringing up a number of reports. "He's kept things pretty low key, although he seems to be primarily targeting gang activity."
Oliver couldn't reply for a few seconds. Whoever this guy was, he'd been doing his job for most of the time he'd been in his 'exile'. A feeling of respect began to grow in his chest at this revelation, although it was nullified somewhat by the twin sensations of guilt and worry. He was an unknown element with an unknown agenda, one that had the potential to make things worse for the already damaged city. It wouldn't be the first time Oliver had seen one of the 'good guys' slip too far into the darkness. Good or not, Oliver had to know more about him before anything concrete decision could be made.
Reaching this conclusion, he returned his focus to the two team members across from him, waiting for a response.
"Keep seeing what you can find on this guy." Oliver instructed. "Until we can be sure of who he is, or if he poses a threat, we'll leave him alone. God knows this city needs all the help it can get right now." As the pair nodded, his eyes fell to the frozen image that Felicity had brought up on the screen. Black attire, masked face, and arm lashed out as his fist slammed into his target's jaw. One question swam through his mind, floating above the tangled quagmire that was sure to follow.
Just who exactly was this guy?
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Starling City had existed for over a hundred years, growing from a small frontier town into one of the greatest metropolis' in the country. And, even with the rise in crime that had plagued the city for years, its history was still a long and illustrious one, filled with building, beautifying, and the ever-present march of progress.
But, in amongst this history, there were more than a few secrets. Secrets about the buildings, about the people, about the events that had taken place. Small secrets, big secrets, and every sort in between. Secrets known to many, secrets known to some, and secrets known to a select few.
And then, there were the secrets that had been completely lost to time, lying underneath the shell of business and progress, underneath the layers of crime, corruption and death. They lay at the heart of the city, slowly gathering dust, but still there, even once all memory of them had vanished into the mist.
The Crypt was one such secret. During the founding days of the city, a church had been built, in honour of a saint that had been forgotten long ago. To the outward eye, it had not proved very impressive, barely taller than the structures surrounding it. But it was what was hidden beneath the stone and wood that counted.
A series of rooms were created beneath the church, built to serve as tombs for the greatest and wisest men that the future might produce. Well over twice the size of the building atop it, it had become the resting place of almost a dozen before an earthquake struck the area. The church had collapsed, as had many other buildings, with the entrance to the Crypt being lost in the chaos. There had been plans to rebuild the place of worship, but, as is want to happen, the claws of progress tore this idea to shreds. The stone was used for some new project, the land levelled, and new structures built atop it. But the Crypt remained, dark and forgotten, while generations had passed by above it, never realising what existed beneath their feet.
Or, at least, that was how it had been until a few years ago.
Sin span lazily in her chair as she waited for the sound of her friend's return, eyes slowly revolving around the slightly darkened room. Well, room didn't quite do the place justice. The chamber she was in was massive, a circle fifteen metres across that stretched nearly as tall above her head, arches spread along that curving wall serving to keep the structure from crumbing in on itself. Four doors led out, like the points of a compass, three leading to other, smaller, circular rooms, while the fourth connected to a winding set of stairs that led to the world above. Heavy iron torch brackets were set into the wall at regular intervals, metal rusted brown and orange from their years of neglect, some even beginning to pull away from their moorings, flecks of rust piling on the ground beneath. Rubble was scattered across the floor of the chamber, chips of brick and cement that had been dislodged from the walls or ceiling, and the entire place on its own had a slightly sinister feeling to it. If she didn't know better, Sin might have thought that some long dead spirits still dwelt in the forgotten tomb, haunting the place decades, if not centuries after their bones had gone.
But, even amidst the dusty history of the place that had been removed from much of the city's development, the modern world shone through. Strip lights were suspended from the ceiling, lighting up the Crypt and chasing most of the shadows away. Much of the rubble had either been removed or packed tightly against the base of the wall, with metal grates laid across the dusty stone to provide an even surface. One of the side rooms had been turned into a makeshift hospital, complete with bed, machinery and cabinets filled with medical supplies, while another had racks fixed to the stone, on which hung a variety of weapons, surrounding a life sized male mannequin that was currently bereft of decoration. The last room resembled a garage, with tools laid across the ground while a small fuel pump and other pieces of machinery were nearby, all ready to service whatever came down the ramp that looked to have simply been cut out of one part of the curved wall. Across from Sin in the main hub, a handful of mats had been laid to create a small sparring area, with weights, rope and several multi-limbed spar dummies present, while a salmon ladder reached up to the arched ceiling. And, surrounding her chair, computers sat arranged in a loose semi-circle, banks working away beneath the tables while monitors were lit up with an assortment of maps and information, although one had been temporarily hijacked by her to show a SpongeBob cartoon. Cables providing power to the masses of equipment hung from the roof, and, even in the confined and pretty creepy space, the entire thing felt almost cosy, like a sheltered area of Starling that no one could invade, or even find, apart from the two people that called it their home away from home.
Sin still struggled to believe sometimes how much the place had changed since its rediscovery almost eight years ago. She had been nine at the time, still sheltered enough not to understand the truth of the city she had been raised in, and had been spending time with one of her friends, although the eleven-year-old was more of a brother to her than anything else. They had decided to spend the afternoon exploring some of the abandoned buildings near her apartment block, playing some game about looking for treasure, when they had stumbled across a hole in the floor of the basement of the closed down store, the light just about revealing the start of a staircase behind one of the walls, leading down. It had taken almost two hours of chipping and hitting away at the crumbling concrete to make the hole big enough for both of them to fit through, but they had done it, and soon discovered a dark underground room, one that had initially terrified her. The boy had stayed close, holding her hand, however, and, after a few weeks spent removing some of the more 'undesirable' content (Sin swore to this day that she had put her foot through a skull at least once), they had made it into their own little hide away. She would go down there when she had time, or was bored, or needed to be alone. Once her dad had 'gone', she had even taken to sleeping down there on occasion, when she couldn't find anywhere else. Still, until a few months ago, it had still remained almost as they had found it, the battery powered lamps the only improvement to have come from the world above in well over a century.
That had all changed, however, when Sin had found herself dragged into a completely new world.
The muffled rumbling of a motorcycle engine from the doorway to her left silenced her thoughts, and she listened as the noise slowly subsided, to be replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps, quiet at first and then growing louder as they neared the central hub. She turned to look as they came closer, rising at the appearance of the figure that accompanied the irregular beat, eyes quickly flitting over him as he stepped into the light, one hand pressed tightly to his side.
The clothing was all black. Thick boots dragged across the ground, powered by legs that were encased in a set of fitted cargo pants. Two steel prongs jutted out of the top pockets, the tips of the man's weaponry in easy reach of the leather-gloved hands. A tight, long sleeve black muscle shirt clung to the man, revealing a well-built physique and, under the rip in the side that the hand failed to fully cover, a steadily growing patch of crimson blood. Finally, the head was concealed by a black ski mask, covering almost the entire face apart from a pair of hazel eyes. Across the material, a white skull provided some decoration, the skeletal grin giving the figure an edge that most would find, if not scary, then distinctly sinister. Well, everyone apart from Sin.
Pulling the figure's other arm over her shoulder, Sin quickly guided the city's newest vigilante across the room and into the short corridor that led to the 'field hospital', a look of resigned exasperation taking its familiar place over her features.
"Ok, what have you done this time?" She asked, releasing her best friend as he sank onto the bed and reaching for a needle and surgical thread. As she did so, the man himself reached up to slowly peel away his mask.
"I can't take credit for all of this." Sin turned back at the comment to see the smirking, if slightly pale, face of Aidan Maddox, features beginning to tighten as the pain finally hit his system. "The guy who shot me did his fair share too."
Her only response was to roll her eyes as she began to rip away the material of the shirt, bringing the long red line into the light. As she passed the first stitch through the flesh, accompanied by a suppressed hiss of pain from her 'patient', she began to mull over a question that had become a regular fixture in her mind for the past four months.
How the hell did I get mixed up in this?
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The hard brick of the alley wall dug into her back, the rough surface tearing away her shirt and leaving painful scratches on her skin. It was faring better than her front, however, which had an assortment of grazes and bruises spread in an ugly pattern across her face, stomach and the top of her chest. Sin grunted in pain as a large hand slammed into her jaw, sending her head crashing sideways into the brick and bringing with it a dizzy sensation, the side of her face burning from the impact. She tried to struggle free, but more arms held her in place, thick muscles suppressing her skinny, slightly starved, frame and keeping her where she was, no matter how hard she fought.
"You know what we want, bitch." The thug in front of her growled. His face had knotted itself into an almost solid scowl, to the extent that his bushy eyebrows looked like a single hairy caterpillar, and Sin forced herself not to gag at the stench of rotten food that was carried to her on his breath. "We're the new bosses in town, and you ain't leaving until you TELL ME THE MEETIN' TIME!"
It had been almost a month since the earthquake that had destroyed half the Glades, a terrible night that the media had taken to calling 'the Undertaking', and things had not taken long to get worse. The criminals that had fled the condemned city district had trickled back in, and every night there were new players trying to stake their own claim, like vultures circling a dying beast. The police were doing what they could to maintain order, which, considering their work before the earthquake, was next to nothing, and there had been no sign of the Hood since that fateful night. People were losing what little hope they had left, and this opportunity for lawlessness was being eagerly snapped up by Starling City's seedy underbelly.
The three that were surrounding Sin were a prime example of the more brain dead criminal element that had risen up. Her business in the Glades was information, both gathering and distributing. If someone wanted to know something, they came to her. She was practically without equal in this field. And, for the past few weeks, many had come to learn this. Criminals, both individuals and gangs, had come to her to find out this or that, and she had been making a tidy little profit off their need. Nothing came free in Starling, and knowledge of the right schedule or building layout was worth more than gold. And, until about half an hour ago, the vast majority of clients had managed to respect this simple fact, pressing either wads of notes or sellable trinkets into her hands in 'gratitude for her services rendered.'
But not these three. This lot had tracked her down and, instead of honouring the time-honoured tradition of trade, had simply demanded what they wanted, with the inclusion of an 'or else' that only served to show their lack of a shared brain cell. What they lacked in intelligence, however, they made up for in muscle, and Sin had spent the last five minutes being tossed around like a rag doll as they tried to beat the intel out of her.
Sin forced her head around so that she could stare Monobrow directly in the eye, holding his gaze for a few seconds. The idiot's face twisted into an arrogant smirk, seeming to believe that he had broken her resolve. This delusion was shattered, however, when she proceeded to spit in his face, the mixture of saliva and blood scoring a direct hit on the bridge of his nose before flowing down his ugly features.
"Screw you, asshole." She hissed. She couldn't even remember what it was they wanted, but after their actions she knew one thing: the only way they would get it would be if they cut it out of her cold, dead mouth. Which, considering the sharp stabs of pain that spread across her being, was probably how this was going to end anyway.
"You little…" Monobrow spluttered, using the sleeve of his jacket to scrub the disgusting concoction off his face, before slamming another fist into her stomach. Sin forced herself to stay silent at the blow, even though the air was forced from her already burning lungs. The thug's hand reached into his jacket for a moment, before pulling out a tire iron. "You don't want to talk? Fine." He grinned horribly, slowly raising his arm to rain down pain on her. "Let me help you with that." Sin forced herself to keep her eyes on Monobrow, her stare filled with a loathing that, if looks could kill, would have sent him burrowing straight through the centre of the earth. Still, as the iron began its descent, she couldn't help but curl in on herself as much as she could, body tightening as she waited for the impact…
…that never came.
Monobrow's expression turned from smug arrogance to fearful amazement in a second as he saw who was stopping his swing. A man, clad all in black, with a skull for a face and eyes filled with a burning fury.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to hit a woman?" The man hissed, fist growing tight around the thug's wrist. The thug hissed in pain and swung his other arm around, trying to hit the masked man. A second later, the hiss turned into a full-blown scream as the trapped arm was twisted violently, the bone shattering with an audible CRACK. The tire iron dropped to the ground, numb fingers losing grip instantly. Monobrow had a second to cradle the injury before the figure's booted foot slammed into his chest, sending him careening to the dirty alley ground and skidding back several feet. A pitiful moan emanated from the fallen criminal, like the sound of a dog with its tail between its legs.
Sin came close to hitting the ground as well, since both the thugs holding her against the wall had let go, stepping closer to the masked figure. Her legs stayed strong, however, and she was able to watch as first one then both thugs went on the offensive. It didn't take long for that role to be reversed, though. Sin's eyes widened at the flurry of movements as the masked stranger made short work of thugs 2 and 3. The moves looked to be straight out of an action movie, although there was something of a bar brawler in the man as well. As these thoughts rolled through her mind, Thug 2 was smashed into the ground head first, while Thug 3 ended up half sticking out of a nearby dumpster. The masked man knelt to check on the unconscious thug, before straightening and beginning to approach her. Sin couldn't help but curl in on herself slightly causing the man to stop, eyes fixed on her. Was that sadness she could see in them? And why where they so familiar?
BANG!
The gunshot completely shattered her thoughts, causing her head to whip round. Monobrow was on his knees, one arm dangling uselessly at his side. The other one, however, had a small revolver clenched into the fist, the source of the noise. The shot seemed to have gone wild, but the gun was still targeted on the masked man.
"You bastard!" Monobrow screamed, finger pulling back on the trigger again and again. "I'm gonna kill you!"
The masked man had leaped back at the first crack of gunfire, but was now quickly rushing the armed thug. More gunshots followed the first, and Sin could see the impact on the alley wall as four bullets slammed into it. The last shot went ringing out just as the figure made contact, hurling the thug into the ground with the black clad man atop him. And this time, he showed no sign of stopping.
A full minute went by with no sound to be heard, save for the heavy thuds of leather meeting flesh. Sin could only see the man's back, but still, the violent movement of his entire upper body told her that, whatever was happening, she was better off not seeing it. Monobrow's cries of pain had been silenced after only a few seconds, but even then, the beating kept on coming, with only the occasional muffled moan to show for it.
At last, the figure rose to his feet, back stooped slightly as he stared down. Sin could see the blood slowly leaking off his tightened fists, which were almost shaking with suppressed energy. A turn of the head caught her eye, and Sin watched as the man seemed to consider turning around, before deciding against it and simply stepping onto a nearby fire escape, pulling himself up the side of the building. Sin watched as, in a matter of seconds, he was gone, vanishing into the darkness he had so swiftly emerged from.
It took her a minute to build up the willpower needed to control her body, and another to push herself away from the wall she was had been using for support. She winced as pain flared up across her body once again, before looking around at the three crumpled forms. Slowly, she began to limp out of the alley, ignoring the sight of the brawl behind her. She knew exactly what she had to do. Exactly where she had to go.
The walk took her twenty minutes, limping heavily and having to use walls or lampposts for support. The injuries weren't crippling, but the energy they took from her left her limbs feeling sluggish and tired. Still, eventually she stood in front of her destination and, fumbling in her pocket for a key and pressing it into the door's lock, let herself in to the bar's darkened interior. The place was deserted, silent except for her and the occasional passing vehicle. While cloaked in shadows, the familiar scent of the old leather seats and wood panelling helped to bring a sense of calm to her, one that had been severely lacking in recent weeks. This place had only been opened a few months ago, but she had known it for far longer. Or rather, she had known what was below.
Locking the door and making her way to the back, Sin opened the door to the basement and, locking it behind her, made her way down. Barrels and racks met her, a store room housing the drinks that had people bringing money in every night. Along one wall, several large barrels dominated the wall, pipes leading up to the taps above, and it was to these that she slowly moved. Reaching up, her fingers ran along several pipes, before her hand stilled and she pulled down. A click, and part of the wooden container swung away, revealing a stone staircase spiralling down. Sin quickly stepped through and, with a nudge, the hidden door sealed itself once more, concealing its secret from prying eyes.
Halfway down the stairs, Sin's vision began to swim. As she reached the bottom, however, this receded slightly as she stared around, unable to do anything else, her body swaying as she fought a losing battle with consciousness. She hadn't been down here in a while, but still, there had been some major changes. Gone was the rubble, the uneven floor, even the dim lighting. In its place was a computer system, an even floor, lights dangling above her head, and a small dojo's worth of equipment. And, sat in a chair right in front of her eyes, was Aidan, her best friend, the Glades' most infamous trickster. Dressed in the same attire as the man who had saved her life, sans mask, with a pair of surgical tongs in hand as he fished a bullet out of his arm, droplets of blood slowly falling to the metal beneath his feet.
Sin's foot shifted against the stone step she stood on, and he looked up with a start, rather like a rabbit in the headlights. Blue eyes met hazel as the pair stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, the silence almost deafening.
"Let's be honest," Aidan finally spoke, voice slow as he rose to his feet, "this is far from the worst thing you've caught me doing."
Sin let out a breathy laugh, and then everything began to spin as the world grew dark, her last sight being the unmasked vigilante rushing to catch her.
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Once she had come to, her injuries all patched up, Aidan had explained everything to her. The Glades needed protecting and, without the Hood, someone had to step up. She didn't know why it had to be him, but Sin knew he was right. Without someone to keep the criminals in some kind of check, the Glades would slaughter itself in a matter of weeks, maybe even days. She had refused to let him do it alone, however. He had the skills, but she had the smarts and contacts needed to keep him alive. Besides, after what had happened to her friend in recent years, coupled with this, she refused to let him out of her sight ever again. It was their partnership that had kept them afloat in their days of petty crime and scams, and it was serving its purpose pretty well in this so far. Well, providing that Aidan didn't get himself killed first.
"You missed your training." Sin remarked, gliding the needle through her friend's newest scar.
"Did I?" He asked, checking his watch. "Crap. She's gonna kill me."
"No, she won't." Sin objected, before making a show of considering. "Although, now I think about it…"
"Oh har dee har har." Aidan laughed sarcastically, before letting silence fall over the pair.
"You going to the hospital tomorrow?" Sin asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer. Any hint of cheerfulness leaked out of Aidan in a moment.
"You know I am." He almost whispered, head falling down to his chest. Sin squeezed his shoulder.
"In that case, we're getting lunch after. Tell her I say 'hi'." She instructed, finishing the last stitch and wiping away the remaining blood with a cloth. "There, all done."
"Nice work." Aidan remarked approvingly, his smile already returning as he ran his eyes over the stitches. "What would I do without you, O Mistress of the Healing Arts?" Sin rolled her eyes.
"You keep on like that," she warned, half-jokingly, "and I'll let Sara knew what you called her after your last session."
"Shutting up now."
DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA
DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA
DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA*DTDA
Well, there you go guys, the first chapter of my new Arrow story. I haven't uploaded anything in a while, so please let me know what you think. Love it? Hate it? I need to know.
Also, if you spot any mistakes in my writing, please point them out. As I said, a bit rusty.
Anyway, thanks for reading this far, and I will try to update soon. No promises, though. Mocks really are a pain in the arse.
Until next time,
TimeFury1347