GreenGrenade — Roleplayer Guild

<Snipped quote by Nightrunner>

Yeah sorry, but I'm probably going to have to leave, I know you've made a statement slightly clarifying since and it's been a while but I just finished being sick for long enough to see this and I'm honestly not sure I'm comfortable sharing an RP with a fascist, even one who bothers to backtrack with statements on equality. Also randomly bringing up your political views to say that after the off-topic discussion was kind of over seems a bit meh to me but that's hardly as big a problem. I mean, you literally said 'Hitler had a lot of good ideas' which even if you argued it was true...seriously?@Dblade26

Yeeeaaaah. I'm gonna have to rescind interest as well. Similar reasons.@clanjos

Um... Yeah. ^^; My stuff wasn't really working out anyways so um yeah, sorry.@Rin

Well... that escalated quickly. I completely understand, though. That is a very touchy subject, and I'm sorry to see you go. Best of luck with all of your future endeavours, and I hope we can cross paths on the Guild again.

Star City
The Glades
11:45 PM

Even before the van jolted into a speeding frenzy, Daniil Kozlov knew he was in trouble. A member of the Bratva’s Star City branch, he and two other Byki had been charged with kidnapping a child for the mafia’s slave-trading operation, something which he did quite regularly, without any hesitation or doubt. He would go with his men, find a child and stick them in the back of the van, then proceed to deliver them to Star City Harbour, where they would be sold to the highest bidder and deported. It was a quick and easy business, and Daniil had no problem with it. It wasn’t his kid being sold, after all. But this job felt wrong. Never had he been ordered to take a specific child; never had he been ordered to deliver them to one of the Bratva’s fronts. 

He didn’t know what made this kid so special. Looking at him as he lay bound and gagged on the van’s floor, he looked like any other kid he’d kidnapped: eyes wide in fear, tears streaming down his cheeks as he silently cried for mommy. He was a good looking fella, Daniil wasn’t gonna lie. His face alone would bump up his price by a good margin, what with his blond hair, brown eyes, tanned skin and defined jawline. He looked as if he jumped right out of Photoshop. But that didn’t explain why the Avtorityet wanted him delivered to the Tovarishch Bar front. It just didn’t make any sense.

Daniil was sent flying into the van’s wall as the vehicle lurched to the left, its tyres screaming like a banshee. 

<Mikhel! What’s happening?> he yelled. Damn driver, always drunk on the job. Unacceptable, in Daniil’s opinion, but then again, since when was his opinion worth a chert?

<Someone’s after us!> answered Mikhel, his voice strained with anxiety, yet surprisingly sober. <Green Arrow!>

Right on cue, a heavy thud boomed on the van’s roof.

<He’s on top of us!> yelled Vasili, Mikhel’s brother and occupant of the passenger seat.

<No shit!> exclaimed Daniil. Reaching towards his waistband, he pulled out a pistol, clicking the safety off and taking aim at the roof. One. Two. Three. The shots went off, punching holes in the van, tiny windows exposing snippets of the night sky.

<What the hell are you– > began Mikhel, cut off by the sudden appearance of a green-hooded man on the hood of the van. The man struck the windscreen, summoning cracks onto the glass. Strike after strike followed, the cracks spreading, until it covered the entire windshield’s area. One final blow and the glass shattered, spraying shards all over Mikhel and Vasili. A muscular arm reached out and grabbed Vasili by the collar, the man too stunned to do anything, his face met by a green-clad fist, knocking him out with one powerful blow. <Shit! Daniil, shoot– > Green Arrow’s boot collided with Mikhel’s nose, stopping him short as his head bounced off his seat’s headrest, his unconscious form leaning on Vasili. The vigilante jumped into the van, sitting on top of Mikhel, and slammed the brakes on. The van came to screeching halt, the sudden stop throwing off Daniil’s aim, his shot going wild. The bullet sped out of the vehicle, through the glassless windscreen and out into the night. Daniil watched in horror as Green Arrow turned to face him, his features masked by shadow but for the snarl that was so grotesquely formed by rage.

<Oh god. Oh god, no…>

<No god here...> said the Arrow, disarming Daniil with a fletchette, <Only pain.>

Oliver carried the boy in his arms as he walked along the road, making his way towards his motorcycle, discarded on its side some half mile from the Russians’ van. His eyes browsed the Glades. Small buildings of one to two storeys, the majority run-down, crowded together on both sides of the tarmac, forming the district that has been home to over seventy percent of Star City’s crimes ever since its foundation. The streets were dirty, covered in filth and grime. Rats scurried from house to house, each one a new dumpster ripe with loot. The air was hazy and thick, the atmosphere heavy; like a blanket had been laid over the Glades, imposing upon it an impression of despair. Oliver had never liked spending time there as a child. He had always thought himself better than the people that lived there, because after all, didn’t privilege mean stature? But the island had been an awakening for him. It made him realise just how bad people had it there. Just how badly he wanted to help them.

The boy was sobbing softly into Oliver’s chest. Poor kid, he’d been through a lot. Getting kidnapped is something no one should ever have to go through, let alone by the Russian mafia. The fact that this eight year-old boy had to go through such an ordeal struck deep within Oliver’s conscience. Because deep down, he knew this was his fault. What kind of father abandons his own son?

“Connor,” he murmured, raising a hand to comb through the boy’s hair. “It’s okay, Connor. You’re okay.”

The youngster pulled away from his saviour’s chest, looking into his eyes. After a long moment of silence, he spoke, awed. “Are you really him? The Green Arrow?”

A thought, however brief, passed through Oliver’s head. Tell him the truth. He dismissed it with much reluctance. No matter how much he wished otherwise, he knew that he couldn’t tell Connor who he really was. Because of the life that he lead, his son couldn’t have a father. And it broke his heart. 

“No,” he said. “I’m your guardian angel.”

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