[center][h1][b][COLOR=f7941d]R E D  A R R O W[/COLOR][/b][/h1][/center][COLOR=f7941d][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]THE APARTMENT[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/color][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=darkgray]11:15 a.m.  |  Lower East Side, Manhattan, New York City[/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]

The sun peeked through the tattered blinds, pouring random and scattered rays of sunlight across the abysmally cramped “studio apartment.” Sitting on the edge of the rugged mattress was a kid no older than seventeen, his crop of long orange hair spilled out to his shoulders. Roy’s tongue was sticking out the corner of his lip as he was hunched over a small, homemade workbench. He finished tightening the final screw on a block-like arrowhead before holding it up towards a ray of sunlight to examine his work. He gave the faintest of smiles at his work before gingerly placing it into the quiver next to him. In a smooth motion, Roy was able to stand in a small square of free floorspace, slide his jacket on, flick his motorcycle helmet into his left hand, and hoist the quiver onto his right shoulder. He carefully navigated the cluttered floorspace filled with spare piles of metal scraps and wires as he exited his apartment.

He exited his building through the back door and out into the back alley and immediately made his way towards a pile of garbage and tarp tucked away in the corner. With a flick of his right hand, the tarp swung out over the bags of garbage and revealed a sleek red motorcycle. It was a little gaudy, and that was almost the point. He pulled the helmet over his head while he stepped over a few bags to mount the bike. He felt a slight buzz emanating from his pocket, and pulled out a cheap flip phone. He checked it, giving a slight sigh. [color=f7941d][i]Dinah…[/i][/color] He sent the call to voicemail and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He knew he could expect a message to listen to later.

Roy shot out of the back alley and slid into the New York traffic. It wasn’t long before he pulled to a stop in a parking spot across from a familiar pizza place. Through the visor hiding his face, Roy spotted some old friends, though Dick was obviously not present. They looked the same as he remembered. Wally was excitedly digging into his slices, Babs was taking everything in, Donna seemed slightly peeved by the delicacies of the Big Apple, and Garth... well, he was a fish out of water. Part of Roy wanted to just turn his bike off and walk inside, but he held back the impulse. He wasn't ready. Not yet. As if on cue, a bit of static in his helmet proceeded a call on the police scanner. Roy revved his engine and shot off into traffic, his red leather jacket becoming nearly a blur. He had to get to work.