I know that people are sensitive these couples of months and have mixed feelings towards Felicity Smoak no thanks to Season 4 but keep in mind that this is simply a fanfiction and I only write for fun because I know that none of this will never happen in the show.

WARNING: This is a rewrite to my first story, The Canary Cry and it takes place in an alternate universe. There will be a lot of changes to the first story, including some of the elements of the story; meaning you might get a noir feeling in it. Rated R for violent scenes, sex, language, scenes that might make your skin crawl and character deaths that will either satisfy you or make you cry like bitches.

The prologue will be the only thing written in first person.

Enjoy

*Cue the piano music from the movie Logan*

I was scared to do it at first. I didn't want to. The many opportunities I refused because I thought I wasn't cut out for it but I had to. Not everything is a choice. Through time, being a superhero has never been a game. It was a nightmare. Heroes are never born. They're made. Just like Oliver, he was never born a hero. He was made. He fought his way to become what he is today. The Arrow.
Five years in purgatory, he fought to survive and now fights to save people, even if it comes with a price. In general, every hero and villain has a price to pay. I learned that the hard way at the end when I took the mantle of Black Canary after my best friend died. I knew what I was getting myself into but I didn't care, not anymore. Sara Lance, the previous Canary before her passing, told me that having a name doesn't make me a hero. Having a costume doesn't make me a hero. Having powers doesn't make me a hero. It's about saving lives, doing what's right, taking a stand and not giving to anything or anyone that tries to tell you otherwise. Even if it means having to sacrifice what you love most. I learned that the hard way after having my heart die on me. And it still hurts but if it hadn't, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

It's the middle of the night. My lover and I walk out of the theatre after watching a romance movie. It's snowing. A drizzle of frozen white rain. Piles of white cover the edge of the sidewalk where we walk on.

I wear my black trenchcoat along with knee-length boots and a black sunhat. My lover wears his beige overcoat and gloves. He holds my hand in his, giving me security. I almost never feel safe even with him around. But I am grateful for him to be by my side despite the horrors I lived through ten months ago. Those were the horrors I wish to forget.

He leans his head towards me, kissing me on the lips hued in dark red. He holds me close, his warm giving me comfort. We ignore the world around with just a kiss but not so intertwined to not notice a man following behind us.

We exchange looks and pretend to be oblivious of it. We smile lovingly at each other as we make a turn to a dark gritty alleyway. The man continues to follow us. I have already seen enough movies to know what his moves are. He would follow us, take out his weapon and command us to give him whatever valuable we have in our disposal.

And that's what he does. It's a cliche. But there are moments where a cliche can be broken. The moment I here the clicking sound of the safety cap being removed, I turn to smack the gun out of his hand and scream loudly in his face. The force and vibration of the scream sends him back flying and skids against grimy and damp ground once he lands. He looks at me in terror. I've been been getting that look from my enemies quite a lot these days.

My lover smirks at me proudly before walking over to the man, grabs him by the shirt collar and delivers repetitive blows to the man's face while I simply stand and watch. The Wayne family walked through an alley similar to this one before being murdered, only the son left alive. We are not willing to be victimized like them. I have already been a victim long enough.

My lover's fist is already smudged with the man's blood. Once he is done, I walk over to them. The man's face is bloodied and now begs us for mercy. I already know the man's name. He is responsible for the deaths of two little girls. One age 4 and the other age six. One blonde with brown eyes and the other black hair and green eyes. Both taken from playgrounds at school. Raped. Killed. Butchered. And then their bodies stuffed in black trash bags before finally being tossed in the river where they were found by SCPD the next morning. His fingerprints on the plastic bag helped identify him. So it was no coincidence Slade and I were on a date at the area where the fucker lives.

Mercy? He does not deserve mercy, not after what he has done. He killed two innocent girls. Why? What did they do to deserve this? Why destroy the life of an innocent child to satisfy a selfish need? It's horrendous. It's disgusting. It even makes an honourable villain feel disgusted. It even made Slade feel disgust. I look down at the man with coldness filling my eyes and hardening what remains of my soul before raising my foot and stomping it firmly into the man's face. It's not wisest thing to do. SCPD would arrest us for attacking an unarmed man despite being previously armed. But it was the right thing to do. We saved a lot of little girls out there. The hunter became the hunted.

It's time for the predator to become the prey and for the prey to become the predators.