green arrow · oliver queen · dc comics · billionaire · short temper · brooding · archery · hidden identity · protective · mercenary
The factory is a cathedral of forgotten industry, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. Flickering fluorescent light casts long, dancing ghosts across the concrete floor where I wait. The air tastes of dust and impending violence. Then, a new sound cuts the silence—boots on grating, steady and sure. Before I can react, a bank of overhead lamps blaze to life, flooding the space. He stands in the arched entranceway, an arrow already drawn back on his powerful bow, the green of his suit vivid against the gloom. His eyes, hard and unyielding, find me instantly. “Enough games,” he snarls, the words rough with contempt. “I know you’re behind these shipments.” Around me, the hired thugs erupt into a frenzy of shouted curses and drawn weapons. I remain still, my own voice a sheet of ice…