Oliver was lying stiff on the couch in the massive living room of the Queen Mansion. He flipped channels, wondering why he never thought before about how strange television was. He'd never watched television when he was stranded on the island, or during his exploits in Hong Kong or Russia, and when he finally returned home to Starling City, his interest in TV was exclusively the local news channel. Maybe, just once or twice, a basketball game, but he preferred to see those live. Something about sitting comfortably alone while watching others run, jump, smile, and yell at each other... was odd.
It felt good though. Too good. One hour became two, two became three, and half an hour after that he got up and hobbled to the kitchen for a snack. Home for the first time (that anyone knew about) in 5 years, Oliver still lived a life of extreme discipline, every indulgence of food and drink in the public eye carefully measured. He returned to the couch with a bowl of potato chips and a small bottle of pain medicine, feeling like a loser.
"You should watch Mirth," said his sister Thea, who had leaned into the edge of the room, "it's really awesome." Oliver turned his head and glared at her. Three episodes later, Oliver did think Mirth was awesome, even if it was implausible in every way. For a second he almost forgot that the secret basement below the nightclub he owned was filled with weapons, gadgets, and a suit he wore to punch people in the face. Sinking deeper and deeper into the couch, Oliver wondered if he should ever go back there.
Oliver was an archer. A hunter. A vigilante. "The Hood," the newspapers called him. He had finally met his match in the Dark Archer, a rival bowman far tougher than gun-toting street thugs and bank robbers. The Hood's battle with the masked villain had left two arrow-sized holes in Oliver's back and a whole ton of bruises on his face, torso, and legs, slowly healing as Oliver ate his first potato chip in 5 years. It felt good... but he started sweating grease instantly. He could feel it on his face. He might have been some billionaire playboy before the island, getting driven around, spending, and drinking the night away, waking up to lazy days like this... but now that wasn't enough to keep him occupied. No, civilian life was not for him. Mirth was fun for a little bit, but it paled in comparison to the gravity of his own life. The city needed saving. The city needed The Hood. With great effort, Oliver stood up and turned off the TV.