Don't Miss ↣ Oliver Queen; Arrow

Chapter 3 ↣

Please remember to add this story to your library or something if you are enjoying it... And I just want to let you know, I taught myself how to do force equals mass times acceleration (F=ma) just for this book, so please enjoy her genius, because I certainly love writing her as a slightly psychotic physics major.

I tear apart my house looking for something...I can't remember what, but I just remember it's important.

I'm slamming doors shut, opening cabinets, kicking furniture over, tearing loose floor boards off. Everything.

Flipped my bed over, tipped my desk, emptied out my medicine cabinet, but then I found it.

Finally, after hours of destroying my home, I actually find it.

I rip the shower curtain off, and I can hear the clanking of small metal objects. I pull the one rubber stopper off the end, and thirty-two small kunais fall into my bath.

I am aware that these weapons are the same as my last name, because duh, that's not my actual last name. And Alexandrea isn't my real first name, but whatever.

I carefully put the knives into a small leather bag, ignoring the pain and guilt that pangs through me each time the magnesium-titanium blade brushes against my fingers.

I hear a knock come from down stairs, followed by some cursing, "Alex where the hell are you? And I swear to GOD if you got kidnapped, I'll make sure you fall down so many stairs it'll look like you were tortured!"

I grab the rest of them and slip them into the bag, not before cutting a gash across my palm. I ignore the sharp needle pain going up and down my arm and I run down stairs, "I'm still alive!"

Siris crosses his arms over his chest, "Well little Kitsune, when are you you going to do it?"

I flinch slightly when he calls me that name, but nonetheless I hold up the bag, "I'm not happy, nor will I ever be after tonight."

"I am aware." He stares at my hand that is covered in blood, "Do you plan on addressing that wound, or are your torturing yourself."

"I'll keep it open, it'll heal, it's just a flesh wound." I walk across my broken kitchen table and into my front room, "Besides, I have work to do, and this time."

I kneel down and tear my carpet up revealing a cardboard box, "This time, I won't miss my mark."

~~~~

That's one thing I didn't miss, my get up. To be fair, it has been eight years since I wore it. I grew out of it in eight years.

I mean the sleeves were long, to hide my knives, but now they fit fine, but the rest of the shirt...not as much. It's tight, and more like a crop top with sleeves.

Thank the lord my pants still fit...not because they were basically padded sweat pants or anything pffft no. Also not because they are the fucking comfiest pants I've ever worn...not because of that either.

FOCUS! I pull my mask off of my pants, it's magnetic. And place it over my mouth and nose. So almost 99.99% of the vigilantes in this city wear a mask over their eyes...why? You can still see them, oh look, I'm covering 25% of my face, you'll never find out my identity! I'm covering 75% of my face, and all my distinguishing features are on the lower half of my face.