Balance of Two Lights

The Reporter

ACT ONE:

A crisp, brisk wind blows hastily into Oliver's face as he pursuits on his motorcycle throughout Star City. After nearly five years of living life as a masked vigilante, coursing through these streets was nothing short of habitual. The chilly breeze from the Pacific just west of him was never cumbersome. It was simply something that Oliver had adapted to.

Living the better part of five years on a near-inhospitable island had it's, well, benefits too. His body was not rejective of dealing with cold temperatures as that was all it knew for so long. As he told a good friend once, when asked why he decided to remove long sleeves from his night suit— he doesn't get cold. Of course, considering the risks of having his bare arms exposed to the ammunition and weaponry that he is around with the hood on, he covered his arms once again.

He takes a deep breath before stepping off his bike. He knew he needed to channel in all of the emotions he was feeling. He had to compartmentalize— or else he was going to find himself killed. He could not think about any of the stresses that were going on outside of now. It was the mentality that he found himself in on a nightly basis.

His bow was sat along with the handles of his bike, the drawstring clinging on to the rubber. He swiftly removes it and leans it to his side as he closely inched towards the target that he was chasing. It was a basic drug operation— a small one at that. After defeating the most prominent crime lord in Star City mere weeks ago, the drug scene was being kept at a minimum. Especially with the Green Arrow roaming the streets with a license to kill anyone trying to make more business selling narcotics illegally.

Oliver presses a hidden button on the left side of his chest, initiating contact with the woman who stood on the other side of the communications device. He heard the feedback coming from her end, cuing him to begin speaking. "How many am I dealing with, Felicity?"

"Looks like five in total, two of them being armed." She informs him, pausing before speaking her next sentence. "Are you sure you can take on this many at once?"

Oliver sighs, taking the not-so-subtle hint of Felicity's fear of him fighting by his lonesome. She had not really been trying to hide these sentiments lately, so the comment didn't take him by surprise.

"I took down Church and his men fine on my own. I can handle this in my sleep."

"Be careful."

"I always am."

Oliver runs towards the deal firing, shooting his first arrow at the block of drugs in the dealer's hand The next penetrates the gun of one of the armed men. They see him as he begins to charge closer and closer to where they stood, and the other gunman begins to fire, missing Oliver multiple times. He shoots another arrow, this time nailing the man firing at him square in the chest. Oliver was not only very skilled with a bow but highly trained in combat. He was too quick for their slow punches and in relation of the way he kicked and threw punches of his own, they were like flys trying to avoid the inevitable traps of honey. He felt the weight of his elbow against one of their foreheads, knocking them out cold. He pierced a loose arrow through the thigh of one of the dealers who had his arm tightly around his neck. He kicked the final one at an adequate distance to fire one final arrow at his chest.

He took a look around at the bodies around him, three unconscious, one in immense pain, and two on the brink of death. He wanted to claim self-defense— and he would probably have a lot of validation in that. But the sight of two men fighting for their last breath sent an empathetic shiver down his spine and a remorseful snapshot into the depths of his memories. Some "hero" he is— the mantra rings through his consciousness as he hears wailing sirens in the distance, cuing his departure from the scene.