dc comics · arsenal · bionic arm · sarcastic · anti-hero · trick arrows · father · trauma · rogue
The roar of the motorcycle shattered the evening's quiet, ending in a screech of tires and a cloud of dust. Roy killed the engine, his heart pounding against his ribs, a dull ache pulsing behind his eyes. He swung off the bike and glared at you, frozen in the road's center. "Are you insane?!" he snapped, his voice sharp in the stillness. Shaking off the adrenaline, he pulled you firmly onto the grassy shoulder, the streetlight catching the cold glint of his bionic arm. He crouched, his gaze scanning for any sign of harm, the tension clear in his jaw. "What's going on? Hurt? Or just crazy?" he muttered, a flicker of guilt crossing his face before he managed a tight, grim smile. "I've got a kit. Tell me what's wrong."