Summery: Oliver's being introspective - no good can come from this.

A cool October morning dawned over a sleeping Starling City, California.

The morning breeze gently swept across the street. A stray dog barked in the distance. Very little noise to find the ear of any awake at this hour.

With much leisure the night sky began to turn a barely noticeable blue. One by one, the street lights - orange, teal and white - extinguished their glow.

Skyscrapers readied to relay the brilliant light of the sun throughout the city streets within the hour; however, one Starling City son had been up for hours.

Oliver Queen, former billionaire, used the upper parts of the cityscape as his training ground. Pigeons were disturb as he darted across the rooftops at top speed, leapt down fire escapes and plunged between the roofs of buildings as he made his way across the Glades.

Oliver's heart was pounding in his chest. Swerving quickly, he avoid an exhaust vent protruding in his path. The end of the building was coming up fast. Oliver sped up in response - the opposite to any rational person.

Oliver pushed off the edge of the building from the ball of his foot. The seconds passed slowly and he felt the breeze from the alley below on the top of his head as he flew (or fell), twisting his body so that he would land shoulder first. Pebbles kicked up a small cloud of debris as he landed in a roll on the next roof. He tumbled for less than two seconds before he was on his feet again, running.

His morning routine in a nutshell.

- ~•~ -

Some time later, the sky now a dull blue and grey with clouds, Oliver sat atop one of the remaining brownstones of the Glades (which had been abandoned after the Quake). The lip of the brilliant fire ball sluggishly rose over the eastern horizon, but Oliver barely noticed it.

Though his city lay before him, Oliver was lost; caught up in a maze of his own thoughts as they crisscrossed his consciousness.

Though it had been several weeks now since the Siege of Starling City life had not gotten any easier for The Arrow and his team. Protecting those who left, battling what remained of Starlings underbelly (which was fatter than he had realized), rioters and looters reopening wounds as people tried to heal, and other two-bit thugs was a full time job. Plus, everyone still had to eat.

Oliver found a part-time job as a waiter at Big Belly Burger to make ends meet. He had no idea what the others had found for work besides Laurel who was made District Attorney after her boss, Kate Spencer, was killed in the Siege.

As the hot star bathed him, and the city, in a warm, orange glow, Oliver took his mask from around his neck having previously removed it from his face. He stared at the persona in his fingers. "Is this what you would have wanted Dad?" He thought. Oliver often asked his father that. The answer was usually silence, and when it wasn't it was a barrage of images. Bad decisions and dead bodies haunted every corner of Oliver mind. Oh how he wished he could visit with his father "in person", but now that his family no longer own their home he could not visit his father's marker. "There's always your mother," something bury deep within him said. The voice sounded familiar, but he didn't care who it was and shook this thought form his mind as quickly as it had come.

It seemed that no matter where he went or the good he tried to do things always got worse. Maybe Starling would be better off without him. But he couldn't leave.

The Undertaking wasn't his fault he knew, deep down, but he couldn't stop it which meant the burden of responsibility - his parents involvement - was his to bare.

The Siege, however, was another story. Slade Wilson was yet another friend he had failed. A friend that returned from the dead to seek his mentally deranged vengeance for the death of their beloved, Shado. A friend infected with the mirikuru - another mistake. A friend that had spent a good five years forging and enacting a plan of revenge to turn Oliver's life and city to dust. He had nearly succeeded. Oliver knew he had put the city he loved - the reason he had so desperately strived to survive his trials on the island and beyond - in incredible danger. And the worst part is that Slade wasn't wrong. It was his fault. All of it. Oliver may not have made Slade into what he is, or do what he did, but he could have stopped him, or at the very least have soothe Slade's wrath by telling him the truth when he had the chance.

Oliver sighed deeply, releasing clouds into the immediate, cool atmosphere.

Now there was so much destruction. So much death. 173 people had died in the Siege. You could say it was not as bad as The Quake, but a death was a death. Those peoples death's; they weren't on his fathers hands, or his mothers - they were on his.

Now the city he had sworn to protect was dying because of him; because of what he had not done. It was dying long before he had gotten his ill-fated hands on it he knew, but he had accelerated the timetable no doubt.

Now, even those that had once believed in him and his cause were giving up on him, and the city.

Others were taking matters into their own hands. Riots were a nightly occurrence now.

"They couldn't protect us," the rioters said as they gave interviews to the news media.

"We'll protect ourselves!" They said, voicing their lack of faith in the police and the Arrow.

"The Arrow does it, why can't we?"

It would be anarchy before much longer if this sentiment continued.

Oliver ran a hand over his haggard face. He had never intended, nor wanted to become an excuse for people to break the law.

Did that mean he shouldn't be an example at all?

Maybe he should give it up.

But the city needs him!

To do what? Fail, again!

What if they kept using him as an excuse to commit crimes causing the very people he was trying to help to become part of the problem.

Maybe Starling was beyond help. Maybe this was a fools crusade. Maybe it wasn't worth it.

Would there every be a time in his life where he would not have so many 'maybes' hanging over his head?

Atop a the metal roof of a warehouse in the glades, Oliver turned toward the sound of a distant siren. "More riots - their early." He groaned mentally.

Oliver replaced his mask. Quickly, he spanned the distance between him and the edge of the roof before taking the handrail of the ladder at the back of the building in his hands. He swung his feet over edge letting himself be carried by gravity to the next plato.

Birds bathing in the reviving morning light flew away as he darted across the rooftops toward his destination.

Oliver leapt down a fire escape at the far end of the next building, before plunging fifteen feet to the street below.

As he ran from shadow to shadow that were quickly shrinking from the city streets, Oliver knew one thing as he evaded the morning light; regardless of how he felt, or how people acted, he owed Starling something for what Slade and his parents had done, and he would right those wrongs, even if it killed him!