ianwillcock
Green Arrow vol 1.9
My name is Connor Queen. Following the death of my father Oliver, I discovered that he wasn’t who I thought he was. He was the saviour of Star City, a masked hero known as the Green Arrow. I intend to continue his mission of saving the innocent from those who do harm and fulfill his legacy; this is my story.
PREVIOUSLY: The masked villain continues to kill costumed heroes in Star City. After Connor is beaten by him, Dinah calls in an old friend to help bring him down.
We zoomed through the city on the motorcycles. My nose was throbbing and my chest ached a bit, but I shook it off. We had someone to catch. The computer said it was at a warehouse downtown. I turned onto Prince Street following my mother and John.
We reached the warehouse where there was a line of police cars surrounding it. Mom approached the chief.
“Commissioner, what’s going on?”
“We’ve got a hostage situation: the serial killer–codenamed Onomatopoeia– is holding approximately 10 officers that disappeared earlier this week.” She looked at John. “You a rookie?”
“We’ll get in there and find them,” I interjected. The commissioner sighed grimly.
“Look, a couple of wannabes have gone in already. They’re probably dead by now. Just... be careful. We haven’t had someone like this in a while. One more thing: recently a lot of pretenders have shown up, do your best to shut them down, make an announcement or something; we know you know what you’re doing, but some of the dead pretenders we’ve found are just 16 year old kids.” I gulped–that was younger than me. I nodded understandingly.
“We can have a crew shoot a video of me, if you want,” I offered. The commissioner shrugged. “We’ll figure something out. Get in there.”
We cautiously crept up to the warehouse. John kicked the door in and we snuck inside.
We cleared the first level–nothing. We got to the second level and there was nothing. When we got to the third level, however, my stomach churned in repulsion–there were 9 dead officers laying on the floor. I looked down the hallway, straining my eyes. Out of another doorway came the two pretenders. I loaded my bow.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. One of them was wearing a shirt with a skull on it. He spoke up.
“Same thing you are. We want to stop this guy.”
That was it. The past little bit I’d been shot, stabbed, beaten up, and had to sit on the sidelines while fools like these rushed in and thought they could do whatever they wanted. They didn’t think about dying, about the guilt I felt inspiring them to run into the grinder. All that guilt, anger and frustration came to a head.
“You’re not going to stop him. If you try to, he will kill you. YOU UNDERSTAND?!” They jumped as I raised my voice. John put a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, soldier,” he said in a stern, calm voice. I pointed another way.
“You two are going to go outside and turn yourselves in right now. You are never–and I repeat NEVER– to come back out on the streets again. You hear me?” The other one smirked.
“Why should we listen to you?”
This idiot. I honestly hoped he would say that so I could teach him a lesson, or let him go so he could be killed himself. I was about to shoot him through the leg when we heard shouting. At the end of the hallway, someone appeared dressed in security guard apparell.
“Help!” He shouted. Something cold trickled down my spine. This whole thing was a trap. Onomatopoeia wanted me here right now. I looked extra hard and saw that the guard was wearing the mask. However, Snarky couldn’t, and ran off after him. Skull shirt tried to stop him, shouting “Renee–wait!” But Snarky/Renee kept on going, disappearing around the corner after Onomatopoeia.
My stomach seemed to drop to me feet. We had to bet out of here. Now.
“We have to leave. He’s here, and coming for us.”
“What about m–”
“Your friend is DEAD. Do you hear me? There’s nothing you can do now.”
On the roof above us, we heard a crash. Then a part of the cieling caved in, followed by Onomatopoeia standing on the dead body of Snarky. We all ran in different diections as he started shooting the hallway we were in up with two SMGs.
“Bang, bang, bang.”
Skull Shirt tried to get the high ground by standing on a crate by was immediatley shot down. I dived around the corner and loaded my bow. I looked around and saw him fighting John and Mom. John ducked as Onomatopoeia took a swing at him while mom used her Canary’s Cry device and screamed, the soundwaves pushing Onotmatopoeia into the wall. I ran out and shot and arrow into his shoulder and he went down.. He had to be out now, for sure. We gathered around him. He jumped up, kicking mom and I in the face and John shot him. The bullets implanted themselves in his chest–he must hav been wearing some durable material.
I ducked as Onomatopoeia took a shot at me. John nailed him in the face with a right hook while Mom tripped him, bringing him to the ground. He promptly pulled a third gun out of the security guard’s belt and shot her. She crumpled to the ground as John grabbed his head and shoved it into his head, for sure breaking his nose. Onomatopoeia staggered back as I ran straight at him, my blood pulsing in my ears. He had broken me, killed officers and kids, and shot my mom. He was going to pay.
He reached into his belt and pulled out a little pellet. He dropped it and it exploded, filling the room with gas. I frantically covered my nose, but it was no use. As the world went dark and he walked over to me, I managed to get a message to John.
“Get–her–ou–”
Green Arrow vol 1.9
My name is Connor Queen. Following the death of my father Oliver, I discovered that he wasn’t who I thought he was. He was the saviour of Star City, a masked hero known as the Green Arrow. I intend to continue his mission of saving the innocent from those who do harm and fulfill his legacy; this is my story.
PREVIOUSLY: The masked villain continues to kill costumed heroes in Star City. After Connor is beaten by him, Dinah calls in an old friend to help bring him down.
We zoomed through the city on the motorcycles. My nose was throbbing and my chest ached a bit, but I shook it off. We had someone to catch. The computer said it was at a warehouse downtown. I turned onto Prince Street following my mother and John.
We reached the warehouse where there was a line of police cars surrounding it. Mom approached the chief.
“Commissioner, what’s going on?”
“We’ve got a hostage situation: the serial killer–codenamed Onomatopoeia– is holding approximately 10 officers that disappeared earlier this week.” She looked at John. “You a rookie?”
“We’ll get in there and find them,” I interjected. The commissioner sighed grimly.
“Look, a couple of wannabes have gone in already. They’re probably dead by now. Just... be careful. We haven’t had someone like this in a while. One more thing: recently a lot of pretenders have shown up, do your best to shut them down, make an announcement or something; we know you know what you’re doing, but some of the dead pretenders we’ve found are just 16 year old kids.” I gulped–that was younger than me. I nodded understandingly.
“We can have a crew shoot a video of me, if you want,” I offered. The commissioner shrugged. “We’ll figure something out. Get in there.”
We cautiously crept up to the warehouse. John kicked the door in and we snuck inside.
We cleared the first level–nothing. We got to the second level and there was nothing. When we got to the third level, however, my stomach churned in repulsion–there were 9 dead officers laying on the floor. I looked down the hallway, straining my eyes. Out of another doorway came the two pretenders. I loaded my bow.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. One of them was wearing a shirt with a skull on it. He spoke up.
“Same thing you are. We want to stop this guy.”
That was it. The past little bit I’d been shot, stabbed, beaten up, and had to sit on the sidelines while fools like these rushed in and thought they could do whatever they wanted. They didn’t think about dying, about the guilt I felt inspiring them to run into the grinder. All that guilt, anger and frustration came to a head.
“You’re not going to stop him. If you try to, he will kill you. YOU UNDERSTAND?!” They jumped as I raised my voice. John put a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, soldier,” he said in a stern, calm voice. I pointed another way.
“You two are going to go outside and turn yourselves in right now. You are never–and I repeat NEVER– to come back out on the streets again. You hear me?” The other one smirked.
“Why should we listen to you?”
This idiot. I honestly hoped he would say that so I could teach him a lesson, or let him go so he could be killed himself. I was about to shoot him through the leg when we heard shouting. At the end of the hallway, someone appeared dressed in security guard apparell.
“Help!” He shouted. Something cold trickled down my spine. This whole thing was a trap. Onomatopoeia wanted me here right now. I looked extra hard and saw that the guard was wearing the mask. However, Snarky couldn’t, and ran off after him. Skull shirt tried to stop him, shouting “Renee–wait!” But Snarky/Renee kept on going, disappearing around the corner after Onomatopoeia.
My stomach seemed to drop to me feet. We had to bet out of here. Now.
“We have to leave. He’s here, and coming for us.”
“What about m–”
“Your friend is DEAD. Do you hear me? There’s nothing you can do now.”
On the roof above us, we heard a crash. Then a part of the cieling caved in, followed by Onomatopoeia standing on the dead body of Snarky. We all ran in different diections as he started shooting the hallway we were in up with two SMGs.
“Bang, bang, bang.”
Skull Shirt tried to get the high ground by standing on a crate by was immediatley shot down. I dived around the corner and loaded my bow. I looked around and saw him fighting John and Mom. John ducked as Onomatopoeia took a swing at him while mom used her Canary’s Cry device and screamed, the soundwaves pushing Onotmatopoeia into the wall. I ran out and shot and arrow into his shoulder and he went down.. He had to be out now, for sure. We gathered around him. He jumped up, kicking mom and I in the face and John shot him. The bullets implanted themselves in his chest–he must hav been wearing some durable material.
I ducked as Onomatopoeia took a shot at me. John nailed him in the face with a right hook while Mom tripped him, bringing him to the ground. He promptly pulled a third gun out of the security guard’s belt and shot her. She crumpled to the ground as John grabbed his head and shoved it into his head, for sure breaking his nose. Onomatopoeia staggered back as I ran straight at him, my blood pulsing in my ears. He had broken me, killed officers and kids, and shot my mom. He was going to pay.
He reached into his belt and pulled out a little pellet. He dropped it and it exploded, filling the room with gas. I frantically covered my nose, but it was no use. As the world went dark and he walked over to me, I managed to get a message to John.
“Get–her–ou–”