Star City is the home of my Father, Oliver Queen. Very few people know that he goes by another name, a name much grander in style and flavor: Green Arrow. The general public knows of him, his continuing fight to help those who need it, and occasionally to even save the world, but most people do not really know the man behind the mask.
I’m one of those people. My name is Connor Hawke, his son; and I really don’t have any idea what my father is all about. That’s why I chose to seek him out. I had lived my life sheltered in a monastery. My mother, may she rest in peace, could no longer take care of me when she became ill, her body betraying her, so she sat me down, explained to me who I really was and where I came from.
My mother was a very soft spoken, but extremely strong woman. Growing up, it was just her and I, so our bond was a strong one. She respected me as I respected her, not only as a mother and son should, but as individuals who struggled together to survive. So when she sat me down on that day, a day that will always stick in my young mind, she was honest and forthright, giving me the facts with both motherly tenderness, but without shielding me from the eventual outcome. She was dying, nothing could be done, and I would have to be sent away.
I had asked her then if I could go live with my father. She had shook her head sadly, stating that it was impossible to do at my young age, but that one day I would travel to the States to find him; when I was old enough to be on my own. Looking back on that day, and others, when our talks would turn to my father, her eyes would always get this far away look, then they would water slightly. These talks always ended the same. She would brush away the tears, smile sweetly, and tell me that she hoped I would some day grow to be like him. She always said he was a good man, a strong man with strong opinions. He was a man of conviction. Then she would chuckle and add, “Right or wrong.”
After “the talk” we spent even more time together. She allowed me to stay home from school more often so that we could go on picnics or on rainy days, I would sit beside her while she told me stories of our family heritage. I had never felt as close to her as I did in those last few months.
Time, however, has a way of being cruel to you. When you wish it would move quicker, it will seemingly slow itself, as if taunting you. But, it is most cruel when you understand that it is ticking down to an end, for that is when it will suddenly speed up, pulling the rug out from under you, as it were.
The final months with my mother seemed like days, and although we had many wonderful moments in those final months, I was old enough to see that she was also growing weaker. She was losing weight very quickly, her face becoming gaunter as the days hurled by. The strength in her hand when she would hold mine was weakening, and by the end, it was I who was squeezing the hand, showing the love, reinforcing the bond.
I will never forget the day we watched the sun set on the beach for the last time. The sky was a brilliant collage of reds, oranges, blues and purples. It seemed as though it was singing to us, letting us know that an end can be just as beautiful as a beginning.
Just as the sun disappeared on the horizon, my mother pointed to a couple that was holding hands as they walked along the shore. I watched them intently, trying to figure out in my young mind what my mother wanted me to learn from them; for she would not have singled out the moment, had it not been significant. After they had pass by us, they stopped and he drew her to him, their lips joining together as they embraced.
Still a child at heart, I reacted as many my age would. I
eww’d the situation, then turned my head. My mother chuckled, informing me that what I was seeing was the most beautiful gift on our planet; the gift of love. She said, “And always remember Connor; love
is a gift, and gifts are something to be treasured your entire life.”
In my heart, I knew what she was saying, but I was also a young boy, and affairs of the heart was not something I wanted to discuss with my mother, so I just stuck my tongue out in disgust and informed her that love like that gave me a sick stomach. She burst out laughing then, the last genuine laugh that she ever gave, and leaned over to me, tickling my sides.
“Just you wait, Connor Hawke. You may well be kissing a girl that captures your heart someday, yourself.”
I couldn’t help myself; I started giggling from the teasing as well as a slight case of embarrassment at the thought of my mother thinking I would ever kiss a girl like that. We were rolling in the sand, both laughing hard, until she finally stopped and we caught our breaths.
She was lying on her side looking down at me as I stared up at her. Her eyes, although tired, seemed to sparkle intensely. “You have your father’s laugh.” It was a statement and to this day I can not ascertain if there was even a hint of sadness in it. “But I’m serious, little one. True peace is found in love, and love always takes shape in more than one form.”
I swallowed hard, not realizing what she was really trying to say, but knowing that it was a message that was meant for a, me, that should have been much older.
One week later, she took me to the Monastery to introduce me to the man who would soon become my teacher. A week after that, my mother passed away in her sleep. I was by her bedside unto the very end.
**********
As I stood on the rooftop of the Wayne Enterprise building, staring at the street below, the words,
fish out of water, never felt more appropriate. I had only been in Star City for over a week, but the stench was nearly overwhelming. I longed for the fresh air of the mountains. I wanted to see the stars again. I wanted to be where I had grown up, where I had been cared for, where I felt safe.
That was not my destiny, however, and I knew it. I belonged here, with my father. Except my father had run off to a place called, Las Vegas, to help some old friends. He had told me to stay here, keep to myself, until he got back.
My father was a hero, of sorts, and I had created a costume that slightly resembled his; learning the skill of a bow – many types of bows, actually. I had also spent many years training my body in over fourteen different styles of martial arts. Even then, I knew that someday I would be coming to America to take my place at my father’s side. I wanted to be prepared, both mind and body.
One of the first things that he had shown me when we had arrived was the building across the street from where I stood now. It had been his family’s company at one time. Now it was owned by a company called Fero, and when Ollie showed it to me, I could detect the slight pain in his voice. He does many things well, but hiding his emotions does not seem to be one of them.
I’m not sure how long I stare across at the building before I sense that I’m being watched back. It’s just a feeling, I know, but one that I trust completely.
When I turn to leave I hear the scream from the alley below. My instincts take over and I race to the other side of Wayne Tower to see a couple with a small girl being held up at gunpoint. Without thinking, I leap off the edge of the building to the fire escape that stands nearly ten feet below me. My stop is gentle as I use my body to absorb the impact, as I was taught many years ago.
“Scream again, kid, and both your parents get plugged. I’m just lookin’ to talk to your daddy. He comes along quietly, everyone stays alive.”
Racing down the fire escape is not a viable option at this point. It would slow me down to take the steps. Instead, I leap over the railing, head first, hoping I’ve figured this correctly. While I plummet to the ground, I catch the edge of the fire escape with my right hand, two floors down, then drop again another two floors, once again breaking the fall by tagging the edge of the metal railing. As I hurry to the scene I hear the voices come up to meet me.
“Please don’t take him,” a woman begs. Probably his wife, by the passionate way she pleads for his safety.
“Got my orders, lady. No one walks out on Fero.”
My interest in this assault has turned personal with that one word. When I get only one floor above him, I’m able to grab onto the last of the railing, but this time, instead of letting go, I pull myself up and flip onto the landing.
“Nancy, just take Amber and leave. I’ll be alright,” the man says in a calm voice. I give him credit. I can hear the fear that lies underneath his tone, but his brevity hides it well from his family.
“No, no I won’t let him take you.” She screams and that’s when I see the man aim his gun at her.
Reacting quickly, my arm flies to my quiver, grabbing the arrow, nocking it, and releasing it; all in less than two seconds. It’s one second too late as I hear the gun go off as my weapon is released.
The bullet strikes the wife in the throat as my arrow strikes the assailant in the thigh. He is able to let out a scream. The woman is not so lucky. Her body drops to the ground like a wet sack of cement, a sound that I know will never leave my memory.
I swing over the edge of the metal escape, landing directly behind the man, striking him with my left leg, right behind his right knee. His leg gives out and he stumbles to the ground. He is raising the gun at me as he rolls around, and I see the husband and daughter run to their loved one. That is when my mind clouds, for raw anger is beginning to take me over.
**********
My life in the Monastery began the day we buried my mother. It was a simple ceremony with just a few close friends. My mother’s family was gone, and we had been without any immediate family.
My mentor walked me through the gates of what I believed then to be a very foreboding looking place. I was quiet and sullen, as would be any child who lost the only parent that he had ever known. For the first four weeks my Master was kind, caring and gentle. He allowed me my space so that I could grieve properly. I never told him how much that had meant to me, for in the second month I had grown to believe that I hated him.
His manner and demeanor changed almost overnight. I wanted nothing to do with learning of any sort, desiring neither the challenge to my body nor my mind. He, however, would have none of it and repeatedly forced me from my small room. First he tried to impart me with knowledge, but soon realized that book learning was not what I needed at the moment. What I needed, he so wisely deduced, was a physical outlet for my grief. So the training of my body came first.
To say he put me through my paces in those first few months would be an understatement. We were up before dawn, as he first showed me how to use a bo staff, and unwilling as I was at first, the idea of constantly being knocked around was beginning to push my feeling of indifference aside, replacing it with anger and frustration.
On one particularly nice spring morning, he swung his staff towards my head and as I went to block it, he stepped into the attack, changing the swing at the last second and catching me around the back of the legs while bringing his elbow up into my chest. I fell to the ground hard; hard enough that the dam of emotions that I had been building up, burst through.
There are only a few things I remember at that moment. My voice crying out in anger and frustration. Swinging my bow wildly at him, the echoing of the noise as the two pieces of wood struck in rapid procession. Admittedly I was quicker than he expected, but barely being a novice, it wasn’t long until he had actually pulled the bo from my hands, pinning me to the ground with his staff at my chest. I lay there seething, giving him the coldest stare that I could.
“Unfortunate,” was his only word, but it came out with so much pity that it struck a nerve somewhere deep inside of me.
He had released me, turning his back to walk away. What I did next, I later grew to appreciate for why it was needed, but ashamed at how I had acted.
I leapt up, throwing myself into his back and landing on top of him. Although he was quick, rolling me off of him, I was quicker, jumping back on, straddling his chest, and it was then that I began to pound my fists on him.
My Master only deflected the punches to the face, allowing the blows to the body to connect. Barely do I remember screaming in frustration, feeling tears falling down my face. He allowed me a full two minutes of this before he felt that enough was enough, and his hands flew up, catching both of my fists and stopping me cold.
I sat on top of him, realizing that he had let me do this to him. He had allowed me to take out my anger and sorrow on him, physically. As he held my fists in his hands, I began to shake uncontrollably. My rage and pain was replaced by shame. I had shamed my mother with this outburst.
With my strength all but depleted, I looked down at him, waiting for retribution, but what my Master did next was the turning point; not only in our relationship, but also in the way my life went from there.
He released my fists, grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me down, holding me as I wept uncontrollably for the first time since my mother’s death. For how long we stayed like that, I do not know. It seemed forever, and the only words he ever said during it were:
“Acceptance. Now you are ready to move on.”The next day I was extremely docile, ashamed of myself. My Master, however, acted as if nothing had happened. He brought my books to me and I dutifully began to study; the feeling of wanting to learn flooding over me. Not only because I knew it was what my mother had wished for me, but also because somewhere inside of me, I knew that knowledge was just as powerful as physical prowess.
Later that day he showed me the first steps in meditation. This, above all else, I hold as what has kept me on an even path. It is truly the rode to enlightenment. After that, we went back outside to train with the staffs again, this time taking time to show me my mistakes as I made them.
After the lesson was over and we began our walk to the building, and evening meditation and then supper, I broached the subject of what had happened the day before. I apologized several times.
He said nothing as I continued to ramble on, until we reached the archway that led into the outer chamber of my new home. It was then that he raised his hand to silence me. “We are all human beings, Connor. We all go through the same process when we lose that which we hold dear to us. As you get older, you will understand this and realize the stages as they come to you. It will happen with maturity and understanding. But you also learned your first valuable lesson, yesterday.”
“What is that, Master?” I asked, puzzled.
“When in battle, either with the body or the mind, never allow anger to overwhelm you. It can be your undoing. You will learn that your mind and body are your defense as well as your most natural weapon, but when you allow anger to overtake you, your defenses begin to crack, and you open yourself up for hidden attacks.”
I nodded, even at my somewhat young age; I understood what he was saying. “It shall not happen again, Master,” I said in all sincerity.
He smiled softly at this statement. “Yes, my child, it will.”
**********
The wife and mother is dead, I know this. The anger sweeps over me quickly and I react without hesitation as I use my arms to push up my body, grabbing his gun hand between my legs and clamping down, twisting the arm and hearing it snap. He cries out in pain and I feel a small amount of pleasure in that.
I do not understand how someone can so casually take another’s life? Life is precious; all life.
As the killer’s arm dangles loosely from his body and he tries to hold it with his other hand, I come back up with another kick that connects squarely in the chest. I watch his feet leave the cement as he flies backward into a large garbage bin. He slumps to the ground, stunned.
Knowing he will be out for a couple of minutes, at least, I go to turn my attention to the family when I feel the small prick of a needle on the back of my lower leg, near the ankle. It hurts for only a second, but then I feel a burning sensation crawl up my extremity. I’ve been poisoned!
My left leg is going numb, and I know it will not stop there. I grab the belt from my waist as I hit the ground, rolling to the side of the Wayne building as more darts strike where I once was. Ignoring the threat, I focus on the more immediate one. Taking the belt, I tie it up around my calf, pulling as tightly as I can. I
must slow down the poison. At the very least it will eventually paralyze my body – at the most, my organs.
After taking care of my wound I look up to see him walking towards me. He’s dressed in a rather colorful costume. My eyes narrow as my mind races for some kind of recognition; yet there is none. Whoever he is, he is someone that my father has not run across, or someone that the papers have never mentioned.
He seems to ignore me, heading towards the man who is cradling his wife’s lifeless body as their daughter holds her mother’s hands.
“Mr. Dalton, we’ve been hired to bring you back. Your wife is unfortunate, but if you do not want your daughter harmed, you will come with me now.”
The man looked up at him. “Who… who are you? Why are you doing this?!” He screamed the last question and I knew that the man’s rage was beginning to take over.
“Inner rage, when focused and used properly, can give you much strength; however, when that rage is compounded in grief, it could inevitably be your downfall.”I hear those words of my Master’s echoing through my mind as I reach for my bow, grabbing an arrow and doing my best to nock it quietly.
“You can call me The Dart, and Fero has hired me to bring you back. Your work is not done, yet.”
I fire the arrow, aiming directly for his side, hoping that his costume is for show only, and not body armor… or at least not full body armor.
It doesn’t really matter, however, as he amazes me with his speed and intuition. His arms swing out to his side and one small dart fires from his gloved hand. It strikes my arrow right at the tip of the head and shatters it.
“I don’t know who you are, boy, or why you are still moving, but the next dart I put in you will stop your heart cold. Now put down your oversized toy and lay there until my work is finished.”
“I can’t do that,” I reply as I struggle to stand. Although I’ve slowed down the poison, I haven’t stopped it, which means I have very little time left. Oddly, two thoughts go through my head: What would my Master do? And… What would my Father do?
**********
By the time I had grown into a young man, I had learned all there was to know about the outside world, as well as more styles of martial arts, than nearly anyone else in the world. This is not me bragging, it is just a fact.
The Master knocked on the door to the same room I had been in since coming to the Monastery all those years ago. I was shocked since he had only come into my room two other times in my life.
He said nothing at first and I waited with patience, for it was not proper for me to speak until he had spoken first. He walked around my room, stopping at several of the pictures of my father as Green Arrow, that I had hung up in my room. When he arrived at the American newspaper articles on the gathering of heroes that had saved the entire world from the alien called Darkseid, he stopped and read the entire thing. Then he read the full article that was pinned next to it. This had a picture of my father next to Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, The Atom, two different Hawkmen, as well as many more heroes that I did not fully recognize. They had all been hailed as heroes again. Saving the planet from another alien, this one in the shape of a large starfish shaped creature that had been called, Starro. It was obvious that in the last few years, the desire to know my father had become palpable.
“You stand at a crossroads,” he stated. A fact, not an accusation nor a revelation.
“Yes,” I had replied. It was true. I knew that I had learned all that I could, so I had one of two choices ahead of me. Stay at the Monastery and live out my days in peace and tranquility, or, leave to find my place in the world. Looking back on it, I know that the answer had been decided on my twelfth birthday when I asked for my first bow and arrows. By then, I had already had several pictures of my father on the wall.
“If you choose to leave, there are many things you will learn, that we could not teach you.”
“I find that hard to believe, Master.” I replied.
He chuckled softly, “It won’t be, once you are out there. All I can say to you is that you remember
everything that you have been taught throughout these years; for if you choose your father’s path, you will need them to survive.”
I bowed deeply. “I shall forget nothing,” I replied. That was the moment that I took my first step towards my destiny.
My Master turned and looked at me with eyes that were soft and compassionate. “Always remember, Connor, your body is your greatest weapon, not the bow. Do not stop working on mastering it. Mind and body as one; with that, you can accomplish anything.”
**********
As I stood up, I caught a glimpse of my shadow on the side of the building. But for a quick moment I would have sworn that both Ollie and my mentor’s shadows were standing there too, as if the three were blended together.
“No one else dies tonight,” I stated simply.
The Dart shrugged as he turned his full attention to me. “Very well, it’s your funeral. Perhaps they’ll pay me extra for eliminating a
super-hero.”
I had to move quickly, this I realized. I had been focusing inward, feeling my heartbeat, willing it to slow as much as I could in the circumstances. The less my heart pumped, the slower the poison. It was not easy, since I knew I was about to jump into action, but I also knew that I was going to bring this assassin down, or die trying. I had to save the other two innocents that were in danger.
The Dart fired several of his weapons at one time; all of them seeming to come out of the palm of his hands, yet there didn’t appear to be any weapons that he was holding.
I took off then, running straight at them, pushing myself off the ground with my one good leg, fighting to keep the numb leg from buckling under. I summer-salted in the air and felt the darts passing below me, just missing my back in mid flip.
When I landed, however, I hit the wrong leg and stumbled forward, but I used the misfortune to tackle the Dart’s legs, dropping him to the ground at the same time. He cried out in shock.
Before I could strike him, I saw that his hand was aiming right at my head and I rolled to the side so that another dart barely missed me. My heart was beating faster again; this had to stop… now!
Just as I sensed he was about to fire again, I moved quickly, grabbing his gloved hand and pointing it away from me and towards his own chest. He cursed as the dart left his hand and struck him square in the chest.
“You stupid kid, what did you do?” He screamed in horror.
“I showed you your own point of view,” I said, trying to sound flippant like Ollie. Admittedly I wasn’t very good at it, but I could learn. “Now you want to tell me why Fero hired you two? Why is this man so important?” I demanded, feeling the burning in my leg crawling forward again. I glanced over at the other guy to find that he had escaped during the battle.
The Dart just smirked at me. “Sorry, kid, the Dart has a code, and blabbing about the folk that pay me; that’s a no no. I have to go now, you see, I have the antidote; how unfortunate that you don’t.”
I had him in my hands, but he just vanished, leaving me to clutch air. Even though it was a warm evening, my body began to shake with chills. I once again gathered my willpower, focusing on my breathing… my heartbeat. I staggered over to the man and his daughter, still holding onto the body of their dearly departed.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”
“You saved my daughter. I thank you for that.”
“Please, tell me what you know about Fero? What did you do for them? Why are they after you?”
His face grew as white as a ghost, not that I’ve ever actually seen one yet, and he shook his head vigorously. “I’ll help you in any way I can, but I won’t answer that. They’re too dangerous, and I’ve got my daughter to think about. They murdered my wife!”
It was then that I heard the sirens approaching. Somebody must have called after hearing the gunshot. Yet, I could not move. Not by the poison, but the attitude of this man. It was unfathomable to me.
“Yes, they murdered your wife,” I practically shouted in frustration. “And you know they’ll do the same to your daughter. I can help you; I have friends who can help. Please, let me help you. Just tell me what they want with you. At least tell me who they are?”
The man was crying, but from grief, fear, or shame, I’ll never know. “I… I can’t. Please, just go. Thank you for saving us, but just go.”
As I got up to leave he called to me. “Wait! What is your name?”
My eyesight was becoming blurry at this point, and I desperately wanted to remove my mask, not that it would have made much of a difference. “I don’t have a name,” I replied. “I guess I don’t need one. I know who I am. I’m someone who wants to do the right thing.”
The man looked as though he had been struck in the face. Good! It was exactly how I wanted him to feel. I left the alley then, heading to the one place where I knew I could get the help I needed, or so I had hoped.
**********
Ditching my costume behind the motel, hoping that nobody would find it until I could retrieve it, I went to the room number that
they had given me after Ollie had left town. This was the first time I was visiting them, and to be honest, I felt bad that it was under such horrible circumstances. I pounded weakly on the door, then leaned against it as my world began to fade in and out.
“Don’t just open it! Check and see who it is first. Christ, for living on the street as long as you have, you’d think you’d have a helluva lot more common sense than you do.”
“Will you give me a break! I was going to look out before… Oh #$@! Eddie, its Connor!”
The door opened and I could no longer stand up, so my body fell forward, landing in the
doorway with a loud thud.
“Geez, kid, what the hell
happened to you?” Eddie said as he grabbed me and dragged me into the motel room.
“Poisoned,” I was able to mutter as I felt my heart slowing down, but this time it was not my own doing. “Dart… not a nice guy. Anyone… anyone have an… an… antidote on them?” It was lame, I know, and I spend the rest of my energy laughing at how horrible it was.
I heard my own laugh and as I began to slip into oblivion I realized my mother had been right, I did have my father’s laugh…
**********
To Be Continued as the mystery of the Fero Corporation begins to pick up steam!If you wish to comment on this issue, please
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