Green Light District

[Hal Jordan]

Coast City was a paradise on earth. Sun, surf, beautiful women, and a promising career as the number-one, hot-shot test pilot for Ferris Aircraft. Life simply couldn’t have been going better for Harold R. Jordan, formerly of the United States Air Force.

Hal Jordan knew it couldn’t have been going better, because it didn’t. It got worse, with an afterburner. After nearly a year of successful test-piloting dozens of strange and developmental aircraft for Ferris, Hal “Fireball” Jordan had managed to crash… a flightless flight simulator. No, one of those multi-monitor, three-axis video game motion sims you see at the mall for ten bucks a play, but a ten million dollar, state-of-the-art, and truly cutting-edge flight simulator which could even impart G-forces on its pilot with near-realistic accuracy.

How he had done it remained quite the mystery, as the whole device weighed several tons, and was bolted securely to a poured concrete slab which lay beneath some quite attractive linoleum flooring, but somehow he’d manage to crash it. Into the desert. Over a hundred miles away.

Oh, sure, he tried to explain how he couldn’t have been at fault, how some strange green energy picked him up and hurled him through the sky like a football, it was still his fault because he was the one at the controls. Insurance simply wouldn’t pay for intervention by “aliens,” after all, and nobody believed in those other than that one guy with the wild hair on the History Channel, anyway. Well, nobody believed in an alien other than the Kryptonian guy with the red cape, at least, but he certainly didn’t have a track record for tossing perfectly good flight simulators around, so it had to be Hal’s fault. In order to not go bankrupt, it simply had to be Hal Jordan’s fault.

And so it was Hal Jordan’s fault. His locker was cleaned out, replaced by a pink slip, and his parking space had a new name on it even before he backed his Corvette out of the stall. For the second time in a year, Hal found himself unemployed.

Most pilots would shrug off the Ferris mishap, but most pilots didn’t have a record of being in the armed forces psych ward for six months. Hal Jordan did.

For several months, Hal applied to any and every aircraft designer, flight school, and flight service, availing his otherwise perfect record. All they could see were his failures, and his accident at Ferris Aircraft hadn’t gone unnoticed by most of the aviation world. The Corvette was sold to pay rent on his apartment, replaced by some old Volvo. That Volvo was in turn to pay for groceries, while his possessions found their way to ebay, one by one, until his television bought a bus ticket to Gotham City.

Gotham City was hell on earth. Dark skies, filthy streets, and filthier women. It had been a long fall for Hal Jordan, formerly of Ferris Aircraft and the United States Air Force, but with luck, things would soon start looking up.

Tomorrow he would start his new job at Wayne Enterprises, as a test pilot. After a one-week orientation course and a practical skills evaluation, of course, but it would still be his first day on the job. Hal recalled how he practically begged for the job, over the phone, and how he tried his best to explain the Ferris incident, and thanked his lucky stars that his psych ward details were technically classified information. In the end, he believed the low pay was why he wound up getting the job, and a modest advance, but he didn’t care. After so much had gone wrong, Hal was ready to look up. Perhaps not to the stars, but at least up from the bags of groceries he held in his arms as he walked home from the market several blocks away.

In Coast City, he’d practically felt like he lived in Leave it to Beaver-land, but on the dark, grimy streets of Gotham, there was no such sensation of security. Whenever a footstep sounded behind him, he would turn to watch his own back. He steered clear of dark doorways, or blind alleys. Gotham was not safe, especially when you lived in a cheap, run-down apartment on the east side whose rent had to be paid by the week, in cash. Even if he had his Volvo, still, he knew it wouldn’t last a night on his street, and his hand-to-hand combat training in the Air Force would do little good against a knife or a gun wielded by some thug.

No, he tried to concentrate on his armload of groceries, and on the sandwiches he would make when he got home, and the pot roast he would prepare for tomorrow night’s dinner. No beer, sadly, but that would come with his first actual paycheck, he told himself. Priorities were important, he reminded himself. He could not afford to blow his new job, as he had nothing left to sell to make ends meet.

Two more blocks and he would be home: home in the crummy, fourth-floor rat’s nest he was paying $200 a week for. Two more blocks and he could at least look at his phone without worrying it would be stolen right out of his hand, even if it was two or three generations out of date. Two more blocks, check his email, have a sandwich, and then maybe give another crack at the ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

In his report to Ferris Aircraft, he’d stated that the flight simulator crashed in the desert, and that he climbed out of it and walked to the nearest sign of civilization; a gas station some ten miles away. It was the truth, but not quite entirely the truth. Had he told them the truth, Hal figured he’d have been sent back to the psych ward, likely never to be released again.

There had been someone else in that desert, or more precisely something else, there. An alien with red skin and a bald head, wearing some strange sort of skin-tight bodysuit. It spoke to him, saying it had called him there, because it was dying. It called itself Abin Sur, and said it was a Green Lantern, then removed its ring and gave it to Hal, telling him he was worthy of it. Hal received little more input before the alien’s head lolled to the side, and he lay dead.

Since then, the ring had been more trouble than it was worth, but Hal hadn’t given up on it. The alien said it was a great power, and he would be trained. Best part of getting trained is already knowing the basics by the time you go to class, Hal knew that much, so he’d been practicing. He still wasn’t sure he was doing anything right at all.

The sound of breaking glass caused him to snap out of his parade of self-pity. It had been faint, at first, but once his ears located the sound, they rang with the shattering of another pane, followed by shouting and a gunshot, then another.

Though his veins, the cold wash of adrenaline rushed. There was no fear, but there was equally as little hope in him as he looked toward a motion in the darkness down the alley. The voice in his head said to keep moving, that it wasn’t his concern, and that he needed to be at work, the next day, not in a hospital bed. The voice in his heart thundered its own cry to run and help if someone might be in trouble. And the moment his heartbeat reached the green metal ring on his finger, he knew there would be no turning back. Against all better judgment, Hal Jordan rushed down the alley toward the noise on the next block over, depositing his armload of groceries atop a closed dumpster as he ran, already feeling the change coming over him.

A pale green glow washed over his body, his street clothes replaced with that skin-tight uniform the alien had worn, a mask appearing over his eyes while the part in his short, brown hair changed direction - a trick he was quite proud to have learned how to do - while the ring on his finger glowed with an intense light, bathing the scene ahead with an emerald hue.

Counting the number of men he spotted, and the arms they carried, immediately Hal Jordan wished he had remained on course for home, and sandwiches. But he was not Hal Jordan, anymore. He was the Green Lantern.

[Green Arrow]

Gunshots. Again.

There were a lot of times when Oliver found himself missing Star City. A lot of reasons. Noise. Crime. Pollution. That weird Gotham smell. The lack of beaches. The lack of attractive beach-goers in bikinis. The fact that he couldn't get his hands on a decent burger. Okay so sure, Lex Luthor had made sure that there was a Big Belly Burger in every city on the planet, and there was a Burger Queen if he was feeling particularly brand-loyal, but it wasn't the same as O'Shaughnessy's. Sure, none of them were one of those fancypants gourmet burger joints, but once you'd sat yourself back in your car and rummaged through that ghetto grocery bag to shove an O'Shaughnessy's burger in your mouth, anything less just seemed like a weak burger by comparison. The crisp and the crunch of the fries, too, the beer battered onion rings, the bacon done the way that it's supposed to be; Oliver didn't indulge in that sort of thing all that often, for the sake of his fitness and physique, but when he did? Oh my damn.

The crime in Gotham, that was the exact same deal. Gotham had Big Belly Burger crime. There was a lot of it. It was everywhere. It was the exact same crap wherever you went. It seemed counter-intuitive at first. Criminals lived in fear of the Batman, so surely Gotham should be a utopia of lawlessness? But Gotham's criminals played the numbers. They knew that there were more thugs and gang bangers with guns than Batman and the GCPD combined could ever hope to deal with. They knew that the GCPD was so woefully underfunded that they couldn't hope to respond to the over-abundance of criminal activity that went on every night. It was a losing battle, and the criminals were on the winning side. It was a gamble, sure. Every heist, every mugging, every act of violence ran the risk of the Bat dropping in and ruining everyone's day; but not always, not everywhere, and not everyone. So they gambled.

The odds had changed though; a tiny shift in Gotham's favour. For now, at least, crime had to worry about more than just one man descending from the sky.

There was a satisfying clunk from the roof of the van as the Green Arrow landed on it, a practised technique protecting him from any ill effects. In an instant he was on his feet, arrow knocked and trained on the first of tonight's ne'er-do-wells. He'd managed to head them off at the pass, and as they saw him standing there, all majestic in his hooded green leather, they skidded to a profanity-laden halt.

"You have failed -"

- this city. Damn it. Not his city. Not his place to go around saying that sort of thing. He'd need to think up a new catch phrase, at least until his mission here in Gotham was done. The leather of his suit creaked as he drew back the bowstring just a tiny bit further.

"- to think this through, boys. Throw down your weapons, and no one gets hurt."

[Green Lantern]

Stoppage ahead, something was up. Hal briefly considered pulling back before anyone noticed him, but it was already too late. Five men stood between a vandalized shop and a Ford Econoline van which had long ago seen its best days. Each bore a gun, but the curious thing was the man standing atop it. Shrouded in darnkess, the figure commanded their attention. Was it really him? Could it be that after only two days in Gotham, Hal had already spotted the Batman?

Speculation went out the window as a pothole took the ground out from under Hal's feet. "Fff-!" the word formed on his lips, but did not fully materialize. Falling forward, Hal braced for impact until he found himself going straight.

Oh, right. This thing can fly. He reminded himself.

Glancing up, Hal spread his arms, accelerated, and braced for impact. To the vigilante atop the van, there appeared only a bright flash of green light as it streaked across the alley, crashing solidly into three of the would-be thieves. One tumbled to the ground, and the other two disappeared entirely with surprised yelps, before a crash sounded from a dumpster much further down the street.

Time to take out the trash! Dang it, I totally should have said that! That would have been cool.

[Green Arrow]

What the -

Oliver didn't allow himself time to dwell, exploiting the distraction that something had provided. He loosed the arrow he had prepared, the blunted concussive head striking at a pressure point on the inside of one of the two remaining thugs' wrist. Tendons spasmed as the arm was flung out, the pistol tumbling easily from his grip. The other thief wasn't as dim-witted as Oliver might have hoped, turning round to snap off a few opportunity shots at the hooded vigilante. The first flew wide, sparking off the metal frame of a fire escape. The other two might have hit, but Oliver and the thief never got the opportunity to find out; a quick step back, and the Green Arrow dropped to the alley floor, behind the protective shield of the Econoline.

A few more shots led to the sound of shattered glass. Aiming for the windshield? What the hell was that going to do? As Oliver stepped out to the right of the van, his hand reached back and snatched a reload from his quiver. In true screw this fashion, the disarmed thug took the opportunity to make a dash for freedom, but a bolo arrow coiled around his ankles and dropped him to the floor. The armed thief tried to adjust his aim but Oliver had already moved, back behind the van again. A few more ricochets, fear controlling the thief's actions now.

"One way or another, you're leaving this alley in cuffs," Oliver called in his gruffest, most commanding vigilante voice. "It's up to you how much that ends up hurting."

"Screw you, man!" the thug countered, unloading into the van. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Click click click.

Oliver was out from behind the van the instant that silent trigger pull sounded. The first arrow slammed into the thief's shoulder, throwing off his aim just in case; the second struck at the reflex point on his knee, kicking his leg out from under him and capitalising on the first hit's momentum, sending the guy tumbling to the ground. The Arrow was on him in a few strides, kicking the pistol away, before grabbing a suddenly panicked and pleading gangbanger by the scruff of his shirt and dragging him to the alley corner. From his belt he whipped out a set of handcuffs - normal ones; though if he was Bruce Wayne they'd probably be bat-cuffs and be all stupidly shaped or something - and attached the man's wrists to the drainpipe. The guy could probably wrench the pipe free if he set his mind to it, but probably not before the GCPD's response time to a firearms alert.

Satisfied that these two criminals were restrained for now, he positioned himself behind the protective cover of a dumpster, and peered out to see what had happened to the other three, and that unnatural streak of green. "Flash," he called out - a blur of green wasn't Barry's usual, but maybe this was one of those imitation is the sincerest form of flattery situations. "Was that you, buddy?"

[Green Lantern]

From the end of the alley, a rustle of trash bags and empty tin cans sounded, followed by the haphazard clumping of untied boots as one of the three men burst back into the light of the shop they'd been trying to rob. His gun was missing, and panic was written on his dirty, scuffed face, an arm outstretched toward the hooded man, panic and desperation full in his eyes.

"Help me!" he cried out.

A flicker of green light flickered from the direction he had come, followed by another bright burst, as a fat beam of brilliant green energy tore through the air, striking the man full in the back and sending him head over heels into the side of the van with enough force to dent it. From there, it was down into a crumpled heap, still breathing, but certainly not moving. The screech of an iron bar rasped against the side of the dumpster at the end of the alley, and slowly that little flicker of light began to saunter forward, swaying gently somewhere below waist height. At last, a figure began to emerge into the light, and the green glow faded, having been coming from the ring on the man's right hand.

He was tall-ish, about six feet in height, and bore a costume so form-fitting, surely even Superman had to be jealous. Green boots, black legs and arms, broken by a green torso and long white gloves, the figure didn't appear to find stealth his modus operandi, in the slightest. Unlike the archer, his head was bare, exposed to the world aside from a green mask over his nose and eyes - eyes which appeared pure white - all of which was framed by a tasteful, conservative haircut which suited the strange man's brown hair quite well. A smile was wide upon his face as he nodded, taking in the sight of their handiwork, though that smile faded when his eyes locked onto the archer.

"Aw, crap. I thought you were going to be the Batman," he said. The disappointment in his voice was palpable.

[Green Arrow]

Sorry to disappoint, was Oliver's initial thought, but he kept that to himself.

His eyes narrowed. Those green energy blasts definitely weren't anything Flash-related, and there was no way in hell Barry would be seen dead wearing an outfit so tacky. A domino mask that was just glued on and that would do jack all to disguise the guy from facial recognition or from anyone that actually knew him, the gloves, the clunky plastic ring, a set of those dorky white contact lenses that the punk kids in the Narrows wore to freak out the regular folk; and what as that logo, a badly drawn TIE Fighter lying on it's side? C'mon. It was like this guy had taken the worst details of every superhero costume ever made, and assembled them into one hideous mess.

A dangerous mess, though. As much as the outfit might have seemed like a joke, the person wearing it certainly wasn't. Or at least, his capabilities weren't. The power to subdue a fleeing target at that kind of range, in the hands of a complete and utter clutz who didn't have the patience to make a strategic entry? Some guy who thought this whole gig was a joke, who seemed more interested in cracking wise and showing off than in actually using his head and thinking about the job? This was what happened when people didn't take the life seriously enough. This was what happened when people were cavalier, when they didn't think about the consequences. That kind of reckless action was what led to people winding up dead: criminals, vigilantes, and innocent bystanders alike.

The arrow already knocked and ready on Oliver's bow was raised and drawn, aimed at this... whoever. Now wasn't the time for unnecessary risks.

"What's your deal, Green Light? Meta, magic, or tech?"

[Green Lantern]

"It's Green Lantern, actually," Hal corrected him. Raising his white-gloved hands, in a mostly non-committal semblance of peaceful intention, Hal looked around at the scene once more, lowering his hands once more as he pulled his cheek once the storefront caught his eye. Glass door totally smashed, place would be insecure all night long.

"And, probably a bit of all three," he answered the question at last. "You can put the bow down, now, Robin Hood. The other two are in the dumpster at the end of the alley. Twisted a bar over the lid so they can't get out. Now just gotta find something to block this door up with, so we don't have to stick around all night."

In the Air Force, there had been hot-shots and aces who were always out to put the new guy down. Often times a rookie would try and challenge them on their level, and almost always get beaten by experience. Hal knew better. The direct approach was often the worst one. Distract, evade, confuse; get your opponent off guard, and then find your opening. This renaissance faire renegade was clearly used to patrolling the streets, and had taken down some of the thugs with just a bow and arrow, so Hal imagined he had to be one of the vigilantes he'd head about. That meant he was the veteran, and it was Hal's time to circle and deflect.

[Green Arrow]

Oliver's aim didn't falter. He'd picked a name for himself. Cute. A weirdly familiar name at that, but Oliver didn't dwell on that particular mystery for too long. He could hit the internet on his own time, put in a call to Bruce; a mystery to solve later. Now there were more pressing matters.

He eyeballed the ring that stood out all proud and obvious on the guy's gloved hand. Little bit magic, little bit tech, huh? Some sort of artefact then, maybe, or an arcane focus. It had a target painted on it, that was for sure. If things went south, and this guy proved to not be on the level, that seemed like the thing to try and separate him from. Preferably without having to cut off a hand or a finger to do it but, well, needs must. The prospect was becoming slightly less objectionable with each rad of swagger this guy exuded.

Whatever that little ring thing was though, it certainly seemed like it had quite the buffet of options attached to it. Some sort of speed or flight maybe. Energy blasts. Twisting a metal bar to hold a dumpster shut. Probably more, too. This Lantern didn't seem like the sort of guy who would have bothered to get the hang of what he was doing before he did something stupid and reckless.

"Sorry Green Light, but that's not how we do things here in Gotham," Oliver countered, in response to the Lantern's suggestion that they cut and run. It wasn't how things were done in Star City either; or Central; or Metropolis; or anywhere else that anyone even marginally affiliated with the League did business. Good practice was good practice. The right and smart thing was the best path, wherever you were. "The Bat has a certain way of doing things, and when you're on his turf, you play by his rules - else things get uncomfortable. GCPD is stretched thin enough as it is without needing to waste time and resources unravelling what happened here. We work with the police, not against them. We stay, give them the 411, and then they look away long enough for us to head off into the night."

Oliver's bow arm relaxed slightly, his aim dipping; not enough for it to take more than a half-second to fire off another shot, though. "Besides, surely you want to stick around long enough to tell the press about your dazzling heroics." He certainly seemed like the type.

[Green Lantern]

So this guy was part of the Bat family, huh? Explained why the thugs weren't dead, though it didn't explain why you'd use a bow and arrow for non-lethal applications exclusively - that just seemed stupid. Was this how being a superhero really was? Bust some minor thugs, and then sit on your hands for a few hours until the cops showed up? There wasn't even coffee, or anything. Forget that; Hal had sandwiches to make, sleep to get, and a job to start in the morning.

"Okay, it's not how you do things in Gotham," Hal nodded. "But, I'm not you, Legolas, and I have places to be. Besides, it only takes one of us to tell the cops what happened, and since you've got all the experience, well, have at 'em, sport." If the words weren't condescending enough, the wink, finger-gun and tongue c-click! probably didn't help.

[Green Arrow]

At least Oliver had been right about one thing.

He took solace in that as he redrew the tension into his bow, his gaze carefully picking out potential targets. There didn't seem much chance of shooting the ring off the guy's finger, and he wasn't entirely sure how long it would take the Lantern to muster up whatever green glow he'd been hurling at those thugs, which limited his options somewhat. If that whole dramatic entrance thing had been flight - and bearing in mind that Booster's fancy ring let him do that, it didn't seem like an illogical conclusion - then there were a few options for this would go down. Lantern might just cut and run, pulling a Superman to head up and out. Judging from the speed the guy had moved down the alley earlier, he'd have a couple of seconds at best to try and take the guy out - probably a crotch shot, given the non-lethal arrow he was packing right now. Upside there was that even if the guy got away, Oliver would feel a whole lot better about it.

Another option was that this asshole might be feeling boisterous still, and might pull the same stunt that he'd used against the thugs, and come straight at him. Oliver ran the calculations there, going through the mental checklist of the arrows in his quiver to count out where the net one was. Maybe he could dodge out of the way fast enough, switch arrows, launch the net, and hopefully have it snag the guy as he was retreating off down thealley. Maybe. Lantern hadn't seemed that fast, but then Superman didn't seem that fast all the time either, and he could sure as hell move faster than a speeding arrow when he wanted to.

And then there was option three: the guy stayed right where he was, and started shooting off his ring the way he was shooting off his mouth. Oliver liked his odds with that option; but then again, if his ring let him fly like Booster, what else could this guy do? He didn't seem to have a belt like the one Booster wore to power his forcefield; but that whole green streak earlier could easily have been a protective barrier. Of course, it could also have just been pretty fireworks, or afterburners, or anything else.

Only one way to find out, Ollie supposed. But at least he'd been right about one thing: this guy was definitely a jackass.

Ollie dropped his aim, arrow pointed squarely at the Lantern's groin, and fired.

[Green Lantern]

Cruise missiles are polite. They take time to aim, and warn you with a lovely tone to let you know they are locked on to you, and that the pain is incoming, even going so far as to give you time to try and evade. Green Arrow's shot lacked all the tact and niceties of a cruise missile. It was a bastard.

"Fff-udge!" Hal barked as he felt himself doubling over - first from the initial shock of the impact, and then by the intense, world of pain which shot through him like a dazzling kaleidoscope of agony. Hand on his groin Hal staggered to keep his balance, a thousand expletives poised upon his lips, ready to unleash themselves upon the hooded hooligan. But he stayed his words, instead feeling a green energy overcome him, and the pain began to dissipate as he stood back up. Without thinking, Hal stooped to pick up he blunted arrow, and he held it near the fletching as the shape of a bow formed in his left hand.

How the hell am I doing this?

The question rang in his head, but he only focused harder, the green bow's form evolving into sharp, crystal clear detail, and a broadhead tip formed over the blunted concussion head on his borrowed shaft. It was easy to draw the longbow back, and he aimed down the shaft with grim determination set upon his face. "So, that's the way you want to play it, huh?" he sneered.

[Green Arrow]

Well crap.

Ollie wasn't new to magic. He wasn't new to super-advanced alien technologies and super-advanced alien biology that was pretty much indistinguishable from magic to all but a few of the world's smartest people. He had friends who could fly. He had friends who could shoot laser beams out of their eyes, or walk through walls. He'd met robots with superpowers. He'd met guys who were seemingly incapable of dying. But this?

His brain wanted to say it was a hologram. Some fancy super sophisticated light protection thing that was making bows out of thin air and doing things to his arrows. Part of him hoped it really was hologram technology, because when he kicked this guy's ass and took his ring off him, maybe he could reverse engineer it into some really awesome trick arrows. But that was the later part. The now part was that he was standing here in an alley opposite a guy with a bow and arrow - a guy who he'd just shot in the balls, admittedly - and that guy somehow seemed to think that he was somehow now in a threatening position. It was cute, almost.

Really, Lantern? You think you have a hope in hell going up against me with a bow in your hands? Have you met the kind of Star City assholes I go up against?

Oliver kept that to himself, though. Rare moment of quiet wisdom. Not that what he ended up saying was much better.

"In my defense," he pointed out carefully, "I kinda was expecting you to have a forcefield."

[Green Lantern]

Don't be a dick. Don't be a dick. Don't be a dick. Don't be a...

The line between Hal's thoughts, and his will seemed a blurry one, at best, but somehow there did remain a form of a divide. It was that very same divide which allowed the broadhead arrowhead to begin to swell, taking an entirely new shape as Hal stepped forward, shrinking the gap between them. Where there had been a lethal allowhead, the comical shape of a big, green boxing glove had formed.

"In your defense," Hal said, beginning to sigh, letting his shoulders start to droop.

There it was. He'd circled, he'd deflected, and now was time to surprise with the cannons when his opponent was expecting missile lock. Every facet of his posture indicated he was backing down, but instead he released the bowstring. Backed by the mass of the concussion arrow and its shaft, the boxing glove popped straight into the hooded fellow's face, the pillowy softness of the boxing glove enough to absorb the blow to the point of annoyance.

The green bow vanished from Hal's hands, and he stepped back, smirking. "Huh, guess you don't have one, either."

[Green Arrow]

A boxing glove arrow? Who the hell would think up something that stupid?

Oliver managed to fight the urge to flinch all that much; didn't let the impact move his feet from where they were planted. The fact that they were set up to cope with bow recoil helped in that regard he supposed. He did manage to snatch the arrow out of the air as it fell in the wake of the impact; keeping his face as deadpan as he could manage, he gestured with the blunt arrow in the Lantern's direction. "Thanks, Green Light. These are a bitch to replace."

Whatever these holograms were that the Lantern was making, the guy's lips hadn't moved the whole time. No movements either. So either he was some really high class magician - which seemed unlikely - or his ring gizmo was thought-based. Psychic. Neural interface tech. Something like that. Giving it a name didn't really help, but knowing that there was a limitation: that the constructs could only manifest at the speed of thought? That was interesting. Someone this dull-headed clearly wasn't likely to think all that fast.

"Look, Jack o'Lantern." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sure you think you're some sort of big shot with your fancy ring, and your fancy pyjamas, but you're just a cog in a wheel. We're all on the same side; you, me, the cops, everyone. But those boys in blue? They don't have magic rings. They don't have masks. They didn't go through what you and I went through to become what we are. They have no anonymity, no protection, and no forcefields either: but they're out here in Gotham of all places, doing the right thing because that's their job. Their calling. Their duty."

Oliver let the bow fall completely to his side. "If you can't manage to respect them enough to wait around for another few minutes, then fine. Scram. But you won't deserve any respect yourself if you do. You'll be just as bad as the boys you put in that dumpster: just as guilty of throwing your weight around for your own gratification."

The arrow was tucked back into his quiver next, carefully positioned at the extreme left, it's placement adjusted in Oliver's mental inventory.

"There's outside the law, and there's alongside the law. If you want to play the hero, make sure you pick the right one."

[Green Lantern]

In his Air Force career, Hal had pulled far stupider stunts, and had been chewed out by men far scarier than the man before him. And in those reprimands, Hal had felt sorry for his actions, and knew he deserved the flack he had received. But in a scummy side-street in Gotham City, with thugs littering the ground, along with broken glass, he was in no mood to be preached at.

Brow crimping, Hal stepped forward, closing the gap between them further. "You really think I'm just doing this for fun?" he asked. There was no more humor in his voice; instead he spoke with military precision. "I am not doing this for fun. I did not do this for my own gratification, as you put it. A crime was being committed, I helped to stop it. That is where my involvement ends. You want to make this about some sort of campaign or crusade for something, that's your shtick. I didn't ask for any of this. And, if you don't mind, I am tired, I am hungry, and I have a very important day, tomorrow. Whether I leave now of my own accord, or wait and 'play' hero to the cops, that won't change what I did. I don't measure myself by fame. Feel free to take all of it."

[Green Arrow]

"Says the man in the flashy costume who gave himself a code name."

Where did this guy get off? Was he really so idiotic that he thought this was about fame? Newsflash, Pyjama Boy, I'm Oliver effing Queen. If this guy thought that fame was what lay at the end of a hero's path, then that was just another trait he had in common with Booster Gold. At least he was honest with himself about it, though. This guy? Hell, he wasn't even native to Gotham, Oliver could tell that from the West Coast twang in his accent. Probably only just got his powers, and decided to show up in Gotham and go through the motions of being a hero. Beat up a few thugs. Inflate his glowing green ego a little more. Completely miss the point of what it was all about.

Want to beat up on thugs? Fine. You don't need a costume for that. Don't need a name. Just grab a balaclava, wear some black, lurk in the shadows; get it done, do it quietly. Oliver had been there, and done that. He'd hurt the people that hurt the innocent. At first it had seemed like the right thing; at first it had seemed like enough. But he was just another thug, no different from all the other crooks beating up on each other in the city, just as certain that he had a justified right to do what he did, just as outside the law. The masks, the costumes, the names - that made their actions mean more. You didn't dress yourself up like Robin Hood if you didn't want to send a message: that you were looking out for the common man, fighting back on their behalf against the institutions that had wronged them and exploited them. And if you want to tell yourself that you're doing the right thing, then fine, do it the right way. Don't just abandon the crooks in a dumpster with no witness statement, no evidence; wait around to make sure the authorities have what they need to make a conviction stick. Don't just bloody a few noses and leave them in a position to be out on the street a few days later: make it stick; make the consequences more than just a few bruises and a night in lock-up.

Oliver dropped the pretence, and the baiting, a certain tiredness creeping into his voice. He remembered this same conversation with Roy, with Mia, with everyone else he'd had to dance this dance with. "It's not about fame, Green Lantern: it's about responsibility. If all you are tonight is a few punches and a flash of green, these guys will be back out on the streets too fast for it to matter. It's your word against theirs, and you're not even sticking around to give it. That's the deal. That's why the GCPD tolerates us instead of hunting us down like outlaws. You want to stop crimes? Then actually help stop them. Or, shrug off the responsibility and run away, if that's the kind of man you are."

[Green Lantern]

"You have no idea the kind of man I am," Hal's voice came back with a dangerous growl. "I never set out to be a hero. I didn't even pick my damn name. But I'm doing the best I can with what I've got."

Sweeping his arm over the scene around them, he carried on. "This is your scene. You're used to this, I'm not. If there's some kind of vigilante training camp, nobody every told me about it, so you can't exactly expect me to know the rules, now can you?"

[Green Arrow]

Of course not. Why do you think I'm telling you now, you big green dope?

The responsibility angle seemed to have struck a nerve. That was good to know. Everyone had their little triggers, their little vulnerabilities and pressure points that you could poke at if you needed to make sure that you had their attention, or squeeze if you needed them to talk. For Roy, it was about making himself distinct from the shadow he'd grown up under - don't make the same mistakes I did, Roy. For Mia, it was a reminder to be better than the people who had wronged her in her past. For Oliver, it was a reminder of, well, lets not think about her right now.

Perhaps it was manipulation. Perhaps it was mind-games. Oliver liked to think of it as just knowing how to make sure people were listening.

"No training camp," Oliver admitted. "More of a mentor thing. Well, pyramid scheme really," he mused. That seemed to be the way that it worked. Every city had someone at the top of the pyramid, that someone had their sidekicks or team mates, then those someones had their own someones, and down and down it went. Was kinda weird to realise how low the Green Arrow probably was on the Gotham City pyramid, what with Bruce's sidekicks and what-not, but that was the way it was when you were shuffling around in someone else's city.

"Kinda relies on patience and listening, though. If you're capable of those -" He fought the urge to grimace slightly. "- I might know a guy who'd be willing to show you the ropes."

[Green Lantern]

An uncalled for chuckle preceded Hal's reply, and he sported a wistful smile. "Some things I bet I could learn, but... I also think I can do some things nobody else has done, before." To emphasize his point, he held up his ring hand, letting the green metal gleam under the street light.

Starting at the bottom of the heap, Hal could handle; he'd done it enough times, and always found a way to rise to the top in short order. With more practice, he imagined he could have been Coast City's champion, but he had no vested interest in Gotham beyond employment, and he certainly held no allegiance to any of its masked or caped citizens. Still, being on the good side of those who followed the legendary Batman wouldn't be a bad idea. And, who knows, maybe one of them would need a test pilot for something truly revolutionary. They had to have deep pockets, after all, what with all their toys, costumes and gizmos. Surely he'd be able to find a better job at some point, if he played his cards right.

Lowering his hand, he then extended it for a shake. "Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot, here. You didn't expect me to show up, I didn't expect you to show up; we were both just... trying to help. Fresh start? I already told you I'm the Green Lantern, what do they call you?"

[Green Arrow]

Fresh start. Oliver could stretch to that. After all, not everyone had the advantage of Pacific island isolation to help them get over being a jackass.

He took a step forward, bow still gripped in his left hand, but in as non-threatening away as it was possible to hold such a bulky weapon. Moving closer, but not entirely all the way, Oliver held out a hand and reached across the remaining distance; if the Lantern wanted to return the gesture, he'd have to step for it. Sign of good faith, and all that.

"I'm the Green Arrow," he answered, "From Star City."

A little closer now, he took the opportunity to study the costume and the man who wore it; he supposed that with enough squinting the emblem sort of looked like a Lantern, maybe. The costume though; where he expected the weave of a fabric, or the texture of spandex maybe, what he saw instead looked... strange. It didn't seem like anything, and yet almost seemed like all sorts of things. Hell of a fancy suit for a rookie, that was for sure. Either this guy had really done his prep work, or the suit came with the ring, and the person responsible was one hell of a tailor.

"It's nice to meet you, Lantern."

[Green Lantern]

The gap was closed with little hesitation, and Hal grasped the offered hand with a firm, but not crushing grip, and a good pump of a shake. "Likewise, Arrow," he nodded.

There, formalities out of the way, and things were already feeling better. "Star City, huh? I've been there a few times. Even when it was still called Starling, too. I've... kinda been around."

It was Hal's turn to study costume, and he did so with an appreciative nod. Leather, kevlar, hints of Dragonscale under some of it, according to how it moved. Nylon, vinyl, and at least another material or two, with bits and bobs practically everywhere. "Hell of a suit, you've got there. And, from what I've seen, guessing your specialty is the bow? Never was much good with one of those, myself." He glanced back at the area, making sure the thugs were still out of commission.

"So, how long does it usually take for the police to show up? I wasn't trying to cut and run, earlier, but, there seriously is somewhere I need to be."

[Green Arrow]

"For something like this?"

Oliver frowned, as if he didn't already have the response times more or less memorised. For all his talk about rules and responsibility, he didn't exactly like hanging around for the GCPD. In Star City it was different. Everyone loved him there. He knew most of the detectives and the senior responders by name. Knew to ask them about their families and loved ones. But here? In Gotham, if you weren't the Batman, you were a disappointing consolation. No one was rude or ungrateful or anything like that, but you could tell that when they stepped out of their cars and didn't see the Dark Knight looming in the shadows, they were a bit bummed out. Hero worship in the extreme, that. At least he hadn't put any arrows actually in people this time. That usually made them a bit iffy around him.

"Gunshots were involved, so that ups the priority - but it's not crazed psychopaths with machine guns robbing a bank or a jewellery store, so probably not by that much. No one's bleeding out so there's no ambulance rush-job, but I saw a squad car roll by on patrol a few streets over while I was up on the rooftops. Probably shouldn't be more than three or four minutes now. The GCPD aren't incompetent: they're just under paid, under equipped, and under staffed."

He lifted up his bow, shifting it a little in his hands as he contemplated the rest of the Lantern's questions. "And yeah, archery is kind of my thing. What gave it away? The bow? The quiver of arrows? The name?"

A slight hint of a joking smile tugged at the scruff of beard beneath Oliver's hood. "It's the name, isn't it? Damn it, I knew I should have arbitrarily named myself after an animal or something instead."

[Green Lantern]

"Then you'd be, what, the Green Llama? Green Honey Badger?" Hal chuckled. "I'd stick with arrow. Good ring to it."

Three or four more minutes? That wouldn't be so bad, he imagined. If this Green Arrow had said three or four hours, on the other hand, Hal doubted he'd stick around that long. Belly empty, and his groin still aching from the other vigilante's low blow, Hal pondered ways to get attention, when suddenly it struck him. Glancing up at the sky, the clouds had rolled in low and thick, as was usual for Gotham. The news and papers loved to post photographs of Batman's famous calling card, the Bat-Signal, and if that was enough to get the attention of a vampire, Hal imagined that regular police would come running if something else was shone up, for them.

Backing a step away, the Green Lantern continued to look up, a halo of green energy surrounding his right hand as he pulled his fingers back into a loose fist. "Let's see if we can speed things up a bit, shall we?" he said with a smirk.

Lifting his ring-hand to the sky, a beam of pure energy shot forth from his ring, piercing the clouds. Fist tightening, Hal focused harder, the humor washing away from his face as he concentrated. The beam slowly widened into a long, transparent cone, until at last he'd sorted it out. Upon the surface of the clouds there was a projection of the Green Lantern symbol, in the approximate size of the Bat-Signal image, the light from his ring forming a sort of vertical beacon for anyone to see, for miles around, leading them to his exact location. After fifteen seconds or so, a better thought occurred to Hal, and the Lantern insignia shifted into a police badge. He was calling the cops, after all, not attempting to summon himself.

[Green Arrow]

Good ring to it?

Oliver started to wonder if a pun that terrible came naturally, or if this Green Lantern had sat down and shortlisted a selection of good - well, "good" - ones to work from before he'd even stepped out of the house in that spangly outfit. He didn't get much of an opportunity to dwell on that notion, though: not before Lantern started performing his magical little light show. Initially it had seemed like the guy was attempting to void something from his bowels - which seemed unwise, particularly in that tight an outfit - but no, apparently it was just intense concentration.

The Arrow wrinkled his nose as he peered up at the, what, Lantern Signal? Lamp Signal? The Cop Signal that it shifted itself into? His arms folded across his chest: not an easy feat for a man holding a bow, but one that Oliver had invested a decent amount of time in practising, for situations exactly like this.

Show off.

"Oh sure," he muttered with a sidelong glance, and enough of a mirthful edge to make it clear that his words were in jest. "You're not after fame or attention at all."

[Green Lantern]

"You want to be standing out here, all night?" Hal quipped back. "Not me, I've got work, in the morning."

His eyes would only occasionally glance away from his projection, and when they did, the image would begin to deteriorate or distort, until he focused upon it once more. Dust, soot and smog rippled and sparkled through his beam of light, making it appear even more luminous. In the distance, a siren's wail could be heard, growing closer and closer, until the strobing red and blue of a patrol car's lights illuminated the block around the corner, then rounded it into the alley. Hal squinted into the intense light of their spotlight, and only then did his projection cease, vanishing quickly into nothingness as he raised his hand to shield his eyes.

"Mind if I let you take the lead, here? Not sure what sort of protocol, you guys operate under," he called back to the Green Arrow.

[Green Arrow]

"Sure," Ollie replied, rolling his shoulders and cricking his neck as he limbered up for the dance to come with the first responders. "Just stand there and -"

- look cool was how that sentence ended, but a glance back at Green Lantern with his questionable pyjamas and gloves combination made him reconsider that instruction a little. Oliver's fingers shifted on the grip of his bow, triggering a brief wireless signal - he'd wanted to call it greentooth, but his sidekicks had veto'd that - to the vocal distorter already positioned against his throat. The Arrow's voice dropped a few tones lower.

"Just stand there," he corrected, turning away from the Lantern. "I know how to stay on their good side."

At least, under normal circumstances he did. Oliver forced himself not to react physically as he recognised the police officer stepping out from behind the flood of light, hand already on his pistol. Not exactly his number one fan. "Officer Bennett," he offered in as polite a tone as he could manage to muster.

"Quite the mess you've made," Bennett observed, peering first at the bullet-punctured van, and then down at the bola'd perp on the ground beside him before offering a facial shrug and stepping over towards the Arrow. A small sigh escaped him, tiredness pretty evident across his features. "Still, I suppose no one's hurt who didn't deserve it." He looked around, inspecting the immediate vicinity. "The 911 call said a 'gang'. These two all you and, uh -" He leaned to the side slightly, peering past Oliver to give the Lantern a once over. "- Little John managed to collar?"

Oliver kept his tongue carefully under control. Why the universe was deciding to make life difficult by sending the worst possible example of the GCPD 'playing nice' he didn't know, but he was sure there were some Lords of Chaos out there cackling away at his expense. "This is the Green Lantern. He's from out of town as well. Kindly agreed to lend a hand."

The way Bennett's eyebrows shifted, and the almost silent "Ah," that escaped him underscored just how happy he was about more out of towners coming into Gotham and upsetting the fragile balance between the GCPD and the Bat.

"There are two more in the dumpster, and -"

Oliver halted, glancing back in Green Lantern's direction.

"- what happened to number five?"

[Green Lantern]

"Oh, he's over here," Hal replied. He took a few steps backwards and pointed to the other side of the van, the side with the large dent, and the very unconscious man lying beneath it.

"Suppose I ought to release the other two, for you. Kinda twisted an iron bar over the lid," he said with a smirk.

Projecting an image, or creating a power blast were difficult, and required immense amounts of concentration, for Hal. But to manipulate something physically seemed far easier. A pair of green gloves appeared over his white ones, and he gripped the bar once he reached the dumpster. The groan and shriek of twisting metal followed, until the bar was freed and clattered into the concrete below. Heaving the lid up, Hal grinned at the two men within. "Wakey wakey, boys, rise and shine. You're getting an all-expenses-paid trip to the police station!" His voice was far too cheerful for any of Gotham's typical vigilantes, and as he led his two captives back to the waiting squad car, he carried a plastic bag in one hand.

"One Glock 19, One Beretta M-9. The Beretta is likely stolen, as it's genuine military issue," he announced, holding the bag out to officer Bennett. "Was going to destroy them, but figured you'd want them intact for forensic analysis. See if it can match these two to any other crimes, and the like."

[Green Arrow]

Oliver and Officer Bennett exchanged a look. Bennett's eyebrows asked metal bar?, Oliver's shoulders just offered a non-committal shrug. The Arrow filed away the information that the Lantern had provided for later reference; familiar with guns, then. Ex military maybe; or maybe just a gun enthusiast. Might be useful to know if things went south; a few databases to start searching through if he ever needed to decipher this guy's ID. For now though, Green Lantern found himself protected by the sacred domino code: no hero or vigilante shall attempt to work out the secret identity of another, no matter how pitifully ineffective their little domino mask is at hiding who they are.

"Maybe I should be writing this down," Bennett muttered with a scowl. "You got a special pen arrow in that quiver a' yours, Tights?"

Oliver didn't flinch at the Officer's mild attempt at an insult. Bennett earned points for effort, but his limited cult knowledge left him with a pool of Robin Hood references that was somewhat lacking. The few cases they'd crossed paths on thus far had already seemed to have depleted most of it, the Officer falling back on the same handful of favourites.

"You might want to run the plates on the van back there. One of these boys decided to get a little trigger happy; the owner deserves to be informed."

Bennett offered a tight smile. "Just bullet holes, I hope. No arrows?" He shook his head and sighed, a hand scrubbing at his face again before falling into place on his hips. There was a long and lingering moment as Bennett's resolve wrestled with itself, once more scrutinising the crime scene. "Still," he managed to say at last, "Looks like the only victims in all this are a few shaken nerves and Gotham's insurance industry. Guess we've got you boys to thank for that."

The words didn't quite convey it, but the tone got the meaning across: the same genuine but reluctant gratitude that most of the GCPD felt; appreciative of the assist, but still wishing it didn't have to come to this grudging acceptance of whatever help they could get.

"Green... Lantern, was it?" Bennett continued, backing up his sentiment with extra effort to make sure he got the name correct. "So, what's your deal? Strong enough to bend steel bars, something like that?"

[Green Lantern]

"Something like that," Hal replied with a smile and nod. "That one was actually iron, not steel, though." The looks he received telegraphed the message of not helping loud and clear. Not having pockets to thrust his hands into, Hal found himself folding his arms over his chest and shrugging. "Just doing what I can to help, is all."

Glancing from the vigilante to the police officer, Hal wasn't sure what to do next. He could offer to try and haul some of these thugs into the police car, but that might breach some sort of line of trust, or complicate things in some legal manner he didn't understand. So, there he stood, until the silence got awkward enough for him to clear his throat and simply ask the obvious. "So... you guys good, here? Am I free to go?"

[Green Arrow]

"Oh, I'm sorry, you got some kind of hot date with Maid Marian that you're in a hurry to get to?"

Oliver didn't know where to start rebutting that little comment from the Officer. The constant Robin Hood references we one thing, but you couldn't just go mixing them up like that. You don't turn to Little John and ask him if he's off to go get frisky with Maid Marian. This was Robin Hood, not King Arthur, the right hand man doesn't end up boning the protagonists -

He forced that frustration aside, burying it deep. On the scale of his priorities this evening, Bennett's shameful knowledge of British folklore wasn't worth another second of consideration. Well, not now at least. Oliver could consider it all he wanted tomorrow, while he was searching Gotham's media stores for a copy of each and every Robin Hood movie known to mankind to deliver to Officer Bennett in a passive-aggressive display of gift-giving.

Returning his mind to the now, Oliver fought the urge to sigh. His head inclined slightly instead, eyes glancing in Green Lantern's direction. This impatience was going to be a problem. Oliver was half tempted to lure the guy into an encounter with Batman, and see how long it took for the Dark Knight to punch the guy out for talking too much. That was an evening of Bruce frustration that Oliver would pay good money to see.

"Thanks for sticking around, Lantern," he answered. At least he had stayed, even if it was with the attention deficit impatience of a fidgeting child. "I'll finish filling in Officer Bennett on the rest. Try and stay out of trouble."

[Green Lantern]

"You too, pal," Hal replied with a smile. Oh, please let this work, please let this work, please let this work. Unfolding his arms, Hal took a step back and half-stepped, half-jumped up into the air. With a mental sigh of relief, he did not come back down, instead feeling the familiar warmth of the green glow surround him as he ascended into the sky, executing the perfect flight out of the crime scene, and bid a hasty corner over the edge of a building, out of sight.

Almost immediately he dropped back to the earth in a back alley, stumbling keep his balance. Unaided flight felt amazing, but it was still tricky as hell to manage, and it was with a quick glance that he looked around, ensuring there would be no witnesses as his costume faded away back into street clothes, and the Green Lantern became Hal Jordan once more. A very hungry Hal Jordan, at that.

Groceries. I set down my bags of groceries over there on that... A heavy stomp smacked against the grimy pavement of the alley floor. In the time it had taken to stop the robbery and wait for the cops, someone had found his bags of groceries tucked back on their hiding place, and all that remained were a few plastic bags, and a receipt. You have got to be kidding me. Who the hell steals groceries? It was a useless question; this was Gotham, people stole everything, and by now the store would be closed. Running a hand through his hair, Hal thought of other options, then checked his watch. If he legged it to some fast food, he'd not only be up too late for a decent night's sleep, he'd also feel sick in the morning. Sick and tired was not a good way to start your new job, especially as a pilot. No, hungry and rested would be better. At least he still had the remains of a jar of peanut butter, back in his apartment. Wouldn't be the worst dinner he'd ever had.