It's been a long time since I last wrote a fan fiction - and this is the first I ever posted here. But after Arrow episode 1.20 inspiration struck, and I just had to do this. I hope you like it, feedback and constructive criticism is very welcome. I do not own any of the Arrow-characters, I just borrow the for fun. Much loves, Jules.


(1)

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He needed it; he needed to feel the rush that heightened his senses and numbed his fears. He was on a mission, and he needed to focus, he needed to reduce his thinking to the necessary basics–and in a fight that mostly meant reacting. He was in need for this to go smoothy; he needed a win, because lately there had been rather many defeats. Most of which had nothing to do with fighting, but still he felt like he had been counting his losses too often lately.

Stretching his neck, tilting his head to one side first and then to the other and it was as if with this gesture he shed his skin and put on another. Oliver Queen turned into The Hood and without hesitating any more, he started running and with one fluent motion he jumped over the stone wall surrounding the luxurious mansion. His feet hardly made a sound as he landed on the perfectly kept grass. He crunched down, one hand on the green that was wetted by the sprinkler, which was positioned nearby and spraying water with a steady clicking-sound. His eyes scanned the garden that actually deserved to be called a park. He had memorized the layout and the exact positions of the cameras. They had been placed perfectly, overlooking the whole grounds–until Felicity had changed their angles. She had made way for him–and now he was on his way.

He kept his head down as he dashed toward the house and swiftly, easily, climbed up the tree that stood closest to the house. A jump later he was on the balcony of the first floor. He had just picked the lock and was about to gain entry to the house, when suddenly the room that had lain in complete darkness was ablaze with light. Within the wink of an eye, his back was pressed flat to the wall. He stood next to the glass door with his bow held to his chest.

A voice was dimly audibly through the crack the door had already opened. "...enough.", a man said now, "Frank's dead, and he was in it from the beginning." Silence followed, then, "Oh, come on! We all know who's responsible! … NO! Not, HIM. I'm sure, it was her. All her! They are both equally evil."

The Hood dared to tilt his head till he could see into the room. It was dominated by a huge wooden desk. A man was standing in front of it, facing the wall and the huge oil painting that was hanging there. It showed the portrait of a middle-aged man with a structured face and a strong, pointy nose. The eyes were very blue, too blue, and exaggeratedly piercing. It was an idolized version of reality. The Hood knew what the guy he was searching for looked like–he looked like the man in this painting, but he didn't have his aura. So that was how that scumbag wanted everybody to see him, more impressive and frightening than he really was. How pathetic!

Right now that scumbag continued talking, his back toward the glass door, "Whatever, we need to close shop and get the girls someplace else, someplace safer." A laugh followed. "Yes, that seems pretty safe to me. Nothing's safer that the sea... On the other hand, that's what SHE thought, too. … Yeah, move them immediately."

Without any further word he ended the call and let the cell phone drop to the wooden tabletop. Just as the "clonk" sounded through the room, The Hood softly pushed the door open and with light steps entered the room as he brought his bow up, put an arrow in place and aimed for the lamp.

With a electrical spark the light in the room went out, leaving the man in darkness.

"Cole Turner, you have failed this city!"

Startled, the man shot around to face the voice. Seeing the silhouette of a hooded figure aiming an arrow at him, he tried to step away from him, but the desk was right behind him, preventing him from going further backwards. He started shaking instantly, the confidence was gone.

"Where are the girls?"

The Hood's scrambled voice rang through the room, sounding deep and menacing.

Cole Turner's voice on the other hand was high pitched and frightened, "Girls? What girls?"

A bowstring resonated, and an arrow shot through the air. It vibrated as it sank deep into the dark wood of the heavy desk, closely to the blond man who gave a pitiful squeak.

"WHERE?!"

The unspoken threat of what would happen, if he needed to be asked again, rang in this one shouted word, and Turner reacted instantly. He blurted the address out and sank to his knees. "Please, please, don't hurt me!"

"Consider this a warning. Next time you make a … business decision," The Hood nearly spat out the words, "you better think of me and how easy is was to get to you. Because I'll be able to visit you again anytime–and if I do, I'll make sure that no third visit's necessary."

He didn't wait till Turner had completed his stammered, "Of course, that won't be necessary." Within moments The Hood dashed out of the room, leaving behind a shaking man that was still trying to come to terms with what had just happened and with that fact that his pants were wet.


The "girls" had really been girls–13, 14, the oldest 16 years old–it would take some time before somebody would call them "women". Seeing them huddled together in a tiny room, barely dressed, some clearly high, all of them nearly starving and desperate, he had wished he would have roughed the guy up harder. He had called Lance to the old warehouse in The Glades, and had watched how policemen had "rescued" the girls and how paramedics had treated their wounds and taken them to the hospital. But Oliver knew that there were some wounds that would never heal. He doubted that getting these girls out of their dirty, cold prison would actually end their suffering.

Originally, he had visited Cole Turner because he had sold people insurance policies that cost a lot of money but were ultimately good for nothing. He had known about this, but he had had no idea that Cole Turner had forced underaged girls into prostitution. He had found out about this by accident. And all of this, combined with the sight of the broken girls, made it very hard to write this of as a victory.

Angrily, he threw he bow onto a desk in his hide-out. He could feel the eyes of Diggle and Felicity on him, as a heavy silence lay over the room.

"Oliver, you-"

He cut Diggle off, right then and there, "I don't want to hear it." Oliver turned around, livid, "We had no idea what Turner was really up to! We were clueless. We are clueless! We're still poking in the mist, and sometimes we're hitting something. By accident. We found these innocent girls by accident."

Diggle kept his calm and his voice even, "I'll take an accident, if it ends with this."

"With what, Diggle?! With these girls being scarred for life? They were in there for MONTHS, we could have saved them months ago."

Diggle sighed, "When will it ever be enough, Oliver? When will you ever be satisfied? With this? With yourself?" He shook his head. Then he looked his friend stern in the eyes, "You can beat yourself up over saving people all you want. But I have enough of your self-loathing, your self-pity for today. I'm heading home."

"Self-pity?!" Oliver's posture stiffened even more, but Diggle ignored him and just started to walk toward the exit. He glanced at the only female in the room. "Good night, Felicity."

The blond nodded and tried the faintest of smiles. She watched Diggle walk to the stairs and then glanced at Oliver, who was still breathing hard. Felicity knew that he was still high on adrenaline, she had crossed him more than once when he was in a mood like this and it had always been explosive. But this time this was more than a post-aggression, post-fight-rush. He looked tired and defeated, and she realized that what he had seen tonight had really shaken him. She knew that feeling–and suddenly she knew what to say.

Felicity took a few steps towards him. "Psst," she said, gaining his attention. Their eyes met, and she tried a comforting smile, "If you ever need to tell somebody how your day was, you can tell me."