Sorry about the radio silence, guys -- turns out I picked the exact wrong time to jump back into one of these games. Life's been crazy busy and I can't give this the attention I want. I love my concept for Ollie and will probably revisit it in the future in Variety Hour or a private doc, but regardless of an extension, at this stage I can't justify holding onto him over a month in without a second post. Apologies, and best of luck with the RP!
GreenGrenade
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@GreenGrenade fantastic first post. We learn a lot about Ollie's current state of mind and the reluctant situation he has found himself in. I am fully looking towards seeing Ollie dtick it to the man in a situation where he's without his usual assets.
Thank you -- it's definitely one of the situations he's ever been in!
As far as my second post goes, would an extension be possible @Master Bruce? At this stage I won't have it ready within the two week limit.
<Snipped quote by GreenGrenade>
It's says green arrow at the top, you can't trick me.
It’s clearly crossed out for a reason…………
You don’t know that. I haven’t identified the dead man yet!
Short and sweet to start with! Keen to get things rolling
G R E E N A R R O W
G R E E N A R R O W
G R E E N A R R O W
1
The dead man’s prison is a sterile building somewhere in the United States of America. He doesn’t know where exactly. The only reason he thinks it’s in the country is the commute; when his jailers come to lift him out of limbo to spread misery in their name, getting there, wherever it may be, never takes long. Always by air, always short, always somewhere in the United States. Logistically, it makes sense. But even then he can’t be sure. Dead men do not get the luxury of knowing.
He’s been dead for three months now, and his jailer is back with another mission. The Rat, he calls him, for no reasons other than that he’s a small man and he hates him. The Rat walks into the small concrete square where the dead man spends most of his days and throws a file onto the desk. A single fluorescent tube casts harsh white light on them both.
The Rat is dressed for a day at the office. Thick mustache, combed hair, cheap dress shirt and pants, leather shoes. His face is soft and bookish, but behind their large wire frame glasses, his eyes give him away. The dead man doesn’t have to look at the file he’s brought to know what’s inside.
Ruined lives. Lives yet to be ruined.
Usually both.
“You know the drill,” says the Rat. “Time to roll.”
“What is it this time?”
The dead man lies on the cheap, hard-as-brick single bed they’ve given him. Hands behind his head, ankles crossed, feet dangling over the edge. He doesn’t look at the Rat. Won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You’ll be happy to know that it’s all in that file there.”
“Yeah, well. Between reading and a messenger, I’ll take the messenger,” says the dead man, “So I can shoot him later.”
“Cute.”
The dead man ignores him, keeps staring at the ceiling. He knows what comes next.
“We’ve got another hunt for you,” says the Rat. “Hickville, West Virginia. Whole place went silent a few hours ago. No one can make contact with anyone inside; state troopers that went in aren’t responding, either. Satellite and air surveillance are turning up squat, ‘sides the town looking even worse than usual. Frankly, we’re going in blind—but state police requested Agency involvement on suspicion of meta activity, so, we’re getting involved.
“You’ll be going in with Poindexter. You’re to find out what’s happened and if a meta’s responsible. If it is, you bring them in. If not, you report back and we leave it to the locals. Any questions?”
The dead man uncrosses his ankles and stands. He takes his time walking over to the Rat. Towers over him. Doesn’t bother to hide his contempt.
“No.”
There’s no explanations, no one to blame—not yet. But three months he’s been dead. Three months, he’s been a pawn for the Agency. He’s done enough of their dirty work to know where this leads.
Ruined lives. Lives yet to be ruined.
You guys are gonna love what I’m cooking up for Ollie’s Super Saiyan arc!!
To wake, and know
your heart sinks
dark and heavy,
hardening into stone...
Slowly the sea lifts its waves,
slowly the trees turn red in the gorge,
slowly the fires begin to lap in hell,
slowly the truth dawns...
![]()
your heart sinks
dark and heavy,
hardening into stone...
Slowly the sea lifts its waves,
slowly the trees turn red in the gorge,
slowly the fires begin to lap in hell,
slowly the truth dawns...
G R E E N A R R O W
G R E E N A R R O W
G R E E N A R R O W
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T  _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y Oliver Jonas Queen _________________________________________________________ 40 | Single _________________________________________________________ The Agency | American N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S | T H E S T O R Y S O F A R . . . T H E S T O R Y S O F A R . . . Oliver Queen was a sellout. Born into the richest family this side of America, he grew up keenly aware of his privilege, wanted to do something about it—but was chewed up and spat out by the money that made him, growing disillusioned and ultimately toeing the line as a good little capitalist. He turned from activism to thrill-seeking, charity to booze, going from one near-death experience to the next in constant search of his next shot of adrenaline. Living to die. When his head of security came to him with what most would call a shady business proposition, Ollie thought hey, what the hell. It’s something to do. Could even be fun. But he got himself too involved. He was only supposed to be a silent partner, provide some funding, but he insisted on being there for the deal. He threatened knowing too much, and the deal’s benefactors weren’t willing to take the risk. It was on the yacht heading there, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, that his head of security tried to kill him. The water welcomed him with open arms. He wasn’t quite ready to go. Call it luck, call it fate, he washed up on a beach with nothing but Howard Hill’s old bow, won at auction weeks ago, lungs full of water and heart full of spite. Ollie didn’t care if he died... but he would be damned if he let these people beat him. * * * Ten years ago, Ollie came back to a world in crisis. Humanity was under attack, too busy waging war against the stars to care about his return, which suited him just fine. His time away had reinvigorated him, lighting a fire within he’d thought long since gone. Reinstated at the helm of his father’s company, he aimed to transform it into a force for good. He was done toeing the line. As the world fought back against the Reach, Ollie fought a losing battle against a system that refused change. Ousted and sued by his own board of directors, Ollie lost everything for trying to play by the rules. With his fortune reclaimed by the machine he tried to change, Ollie set his sights on helping others within his new means, taking on an administrative position at the Star City Youth Recreational Center. When he wasn’t there, he was at the local archery range, honing the childhood skill that had kept him alive during his time away. Something lost, something gained. Not long after coming to the Youth Center, a young boy walked through its doors asking for Ollie by name. His name was Connor Hawke, he said, and he was Ollie’s son. Ollie remembered the boy’s mother, Moonday—a brief romance from his college activist years at Hudson University. She left shortly after their fling, and never mentioned any pregnancy to him. But here Connor was, seeking Ollie out after seeing his legal battle on the news. Although shocked, Ollie welcomed Connor into his life, determined to make up for lost time and be a father to his son. Ollie felt good about the work he was doing, where his life was heading. He lost everything, but gained a son—and compared to seeing the kids at the Youth Center smile, making a tangible difference in their lives, it all seemed ashes. In the time since his dismissal from Queen Industries, Ollie felt something he couldn’t remember feeling before… Fulfilment. Finally, he was doing work that’s worth a damn. But it still wasn’t enough. Something kept gnawing at him, persistent, a feeling that he couldn’t let go. Ollie had seen firsthand what happens when you try to solve problems with money. At best, you’re treating a symptom. At worst, the machine fights you, devours you whole. He watched it leech from the city around him, from his son, from the kids he was trying to help, and wondered: what can one man do? Oliver Queen felt a call from within. He picked up a bow. * * * As Superman took flight in Washington, Ollie took to Star City’s streets. With nothing but his longbow and quiver full of arrows, “Green Arrow” made waves as the underground champion of those the system forgot and ignored, clashing with the law just as often as he targeted organized and white collar crime alike. All the while he grew closer with Connor and continued his work at the Youth Center, where another kid entered his life: this time a runaway he’d helped as Green Arrow, a young girl named Mia Dearden. Like him, she was a survivor, and though he didn’t know her for long, he soon found that he’d gained a daughter, too. Ollie had opposed the idea of a Lord/Waller government since the moment they announced their candidacy. He could see the writing on the wall, and he was angry. When they announced the establishment of the Agency and its military checkpoints, he wasn’t surprised. He’d long decided how to voice his displeasure. Three months ago, Green Arrow attacked a Star City Agency facility to free its metahuman captives and send a message: Maxwell Lord and his cronies were not welcome here. They were ready for him. As far as the world was concerned, Oliver Queen died a domestic terrorist that night. In the Agency’s custody, he was given a choice: serve their interests as an Agency asset, or let his family suffer the consequences of his actions. To Ollie, there was no choice to make. Oliver Queen was a sellout. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) I don’t know if you guys know this, but I like Green Arrow. It would’ve been easy to play it straight and run the character relatively close to canon—he’s made for this kind of premise—but I want to do something a little different here. Ollie is, at his core, a leftist superhero who loves his family more than anything else. The idea of using his family against him, driving him to act against everything he stands for, is a compelling one to me. And so he’s here: dead to the world, forced to act in the Agency’s interests. I’ve got ideas for where to take his personal arc as he navigates his... unfortunate position, but as far as RPing goes I’d love to get him involved with both Agency and non-Agency characters. The benefit of this concept is that it leaves Ollie primed for interactions that are ripe with conflict from all sides, which is pretty exciting to me! To clarify Ollie’s standing with the Agency at large: Ollie is an Agency asset. His only point of contact with the wider organization is via his handler, Fyers. When he’s not on a mission, he’s stationed at an Agency black site. He’s not privy to its inner workings because he is its tool, not its agent. Occasionally he’ll be assigned to work with other Agency assets, such as Poindexter or Arachne. Their little branch of the Agency is overseen by Sarge Steel. Ollie is not aware of this. Character portrait art by Dan Mora and Alejandro Sánchez from Absolute Power #1. Poem: Slowly the Truth Dawns by Olav H. Hauge. |
To wake, and know
your heart sinks
dark and heavy,
hardening into stone...
Slowly the sea lifts its waves,
slowly the trees turn red in the gorge,
slowly the fires begin to lap in hell,
slowly the truth dawns...
![]()
your heart sinks
dark and heavy,
hardening into stone...
Slowly the sea lifts its waves,
slowly the trees turn red in the gorge,
slowly the fires begin to lap in hell,
slowly the truth dawns...
G R E E N A R R O W
G R E E N A R R O W
G R E E N A R R O W
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y Oliver Jonas Queen _________________________________________________________ 40 | Single _________________________________________________________ The Agency | American N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S | T H E S T O R Y S O F A R . . . T H E S T O R Y S O F A R . . . Oliver Queen was a sellout. Born into the richest family this side of America, he grew up keenly aware of his privilege, wanted to do something about it—but was chewed up and spat out by the money that made him, growing disillusioned and ultimately toeing the line as a good little capitalist. He turned from activism to thrill-seeking, charity to booze, going from one near-death experience to the next in constant search of his next shot of adrenaline. Living to die. When his head of security came to him with what most would call a shady business proposition, Ollie thought hey, what the hell. It’s something to do. Could even be fun. But he got himself too involved. He was only supposed to be a silent partner, provide some funding, but he insisted on being there for the deal. He threatened knowing too much, and the deal’s benefactors weren’t willing to take the risk. It was on the yacht heading there, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, that his head of security tried to kill him. The water welcomed him with open arms. He wasn’t quite ready to go. Call it luck, call it fate, he washed up on a beach with nothing but Howard Hill’s old bow, won at auction weeks ago, lungs full of water and heart full of spite. Ollie didn’t care if he died... but he would be damned if he let these people beat him. * * * Ten years ago, Ollie came back to a world in crisis. Humanity was under attack, too busy waging war against the stars to care about his return, which suited him just fine. His time away had reinvigorated him, lighting a fire within he’d thought long since gone. Reinstated at the helm of his father’s company, he aimed to transform it into a force for good. He was done toeing the line. As the world fought back against the Reach, Ollie fought a losing battle against a system that refused change. Ousted and sued by his own board of directors, Ollie lost everything for trying to play by the rules. With his fortune reclaimed by the machine he tried to change, Ollie set his sights on helping others within his new means, taking on an administrative position at the Star City Youth Recreational Center. When he wasn’t there, he was at the local archery range, honing the childhood skill that had kept him alive during his time away. Something lost, something gained. Not long after coming to the Youth Center, a young boy walked through its doors asking for Ollie by name. His name was Connor Hawke, he said, and he was Ollie’s son. Ollie remembered the boy’s mother, Moonday—a brief romance from his college activist years at Hudson University. She left shortly after their fling, and never mentioned any pregnancy to him. But here Connor was, seeking Ollie out after seeing his legal battle on the news. Although shocked, Ollie welcomed Connor into his life, determined to make up for lost time and be a father to his son. Ollie felt good about the work he was doing, where his life was heading. He lost everything, but gained a son—and compared to seeing the kids at the Youth Center smile, making a tangible difference in their lives, it all seemed ashes. In the time since his dismissal from Queen Industries, Ollie felt something he couldn’t remember feeling before… Fulfilment. Finally, he was doing work that’s worth a damn. But it still wasn’t enough. Something kept gnawing at him, persistent, a feeling that he couldn’t let go. Ollie had seen firsthand what happens when you try to solve problems with money. At best, you’re treating a symptom. At worst, the machine fights you, devours you whole. He watched it leech from the city around him, from his son, from the kids he was trying to help, and wondered: what can one man do? Oliver Queen felt a call from within. He picked up a bow. * * * As Superman took flight in Washington, Ollie took to Star City’s streets. With nothing but his longbow and quiver full of arrows, “Green Arrow” made waves as the underground champion of those the system forgot and ignored, clashing with the law just as often as he targeted organized and white collar crime alike. All the while he grew closer with Connor and continued his work at the Youth Center, where another kid entered his life: this time a runaway he’d helped as Green Arrow, a young girl named Mia Dearden. Like him, she was a survivor, and though he didn’t know her for long, he soon found that he’d gained a daughter, too. Ollie had opposed the idea of a Lord/Waller government since the moment they announced their candidacy. He could see the writing on the wall, and he was angry. When they announced the establishment of the Agency and its military checkpoints, he wasn’t surprised. He’d long decided how to voice his displeasure. Three months ago, Green Arrow attacked a Star City Agency facility to free its metahuman captives and send a message: Maxwell Lord and his cronies were not welcome here. They were ready for him. As far as the world was concerned, Oliver Queen died a domestic terrorist that night. In the Agency’s custody, he was given a choice: serve their interests as an Agency asset, or let his family suffer the consequences of his actions. To Ollie, there was no choice to make. Oliver Queen was a sellout. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) I don’t know if you guys know this, but I like Green Arrow. It would’ve been easy to play it straight and run the character relatively close to canon—he’s made for this kind of premise—but I want to do something a little different here. Ollie is, at his core, a leftist superhero who loves his family more than anything else. The idea of using his family against him, driving him to act against everything he stands for, is a compelling one to me. And so he’s here: dead to the world, forced to act in the Agency’s interests. I’ve got ideas for where to take his personal arc as he navigates his... unfortunate position, but as far as RPing goes I’d love to get him involved with both Agency and non-Agency characters. The benefit of this concept is that it leaves Ollie primed for interactions that are ripe with conflict from all sides, which is pretty exciting to me! To clarify Ollie’s standing with the Agency at large: Ollie is an Agency asset. His only point of contact with the wider organization is via his handler, Fyers. When he’s not on a mission, he’s stationed at an Agency black site. He’s not privy to its inner workings because he is its tool, not its agent. Occasionally he’ll be assigned to work with other Agency assets, such as Poindexter or Arachne. Their little branch of the Agency is overseen by Sarge Steel. Ollie is not aware of this. Character portrait art by Dan Mora and Alejandro Sánchez from Absolute Power #1. Poem: Slowly the Truth Dawns by Olav H. Hauge. |
<Snipped quote by GreenGrenade>
Oh, so it’s Green Arrow. Arrow and Deathstroke coming across one another should be lit. Honestly thought having Goku here would be so dope if it was open for manga/anime guys, too. Just imagine him fighting Superman
I don’t know what you’re talking about, that’s clearly Plastic Man!
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