All year round, Rome bustles with tourists, swarming with bodies of every nationality, creed and religion. Appia Valley tends to be the hub of most activity, as it showcases most of the ruins of the largest empire in the history of the world. More often than not with the amount of English speaking tour guides, the amusements, vendors and attractions, one often forgets they are even so far away from home. There are of course gorgeous parks, and resorts located all around Rome, ethnic locations that show the grandeurs of the modern Italy, but generally the day to day buildings that are not high lighted on travel brochures don’t usually get a second thought. The bodies of tourists pass fast food restaurants, video stores, department warehouses, and the gigantic glass covered skyscrapers trying to forget the trappings of a modern futuristic world. When people come to Rome, Italy they want to see the monuments of the history books, take in classic theatre, or sometimes check out the museums that are showcased around the great city. Or at least this field of thought, was what Eddie Flyers was betting on.

“So tell me again why we don’t just use the American Embassy’s cellar?” Green Arrow asked, his emerald masked face darting from the window.

“Well, you should have learned after almost getting killed by Sonar that the direct route is not always the most discrete way.” Flyers shook his head, “Hell what am I telling you for? I’ve spent enough time with you to know… you always want to go the hard way. Jensen isn’t any better. Remind me to tell you about customs when we landed in Tokyo* sometime.”

[[* Master Jensen and Ironhorse had a team up session in Green Arrow 4 & 5]]

Green Arrow shook his head; his fingers trailing down the ripped chest of his spandex. “No Eddie, where it is good to go through the road less traveled… Sonar, managed to almost injure some people. I’m okay with taking out time and being modest. I just assumed with your government status that you would be able to get us into the embassy a lot better than breaking into a condemned apartment complex.”

“In this particular incident, keeping as far away from the US government is a good thing.” Eddie smiled… “Guys like Milo Armitage have politicians on their payroll, and can call in favors. One thing I learned from your dad… was never trust the guys with heavy wallets. ‘Cause that means power… and people with power abuse it.”

“Not all people with power abuse it,” Green Arrow said defiantly.

“Agreed, kid… but there is no doubt in my mind your Step Dad abuses it… many times over.”

“Whoa Whoa Whoa… hold the phone a moment!” Crack Shot sprung to life from the back seat. Her platinum blond hair slid across her face as she pushed herself forward into Green Arrow’s seat. “Arrow… you are related to Milo Armitage? You were planning on telling me this right?”

“It’s sort of complicated,” Green Arrow Replied.

	The Emerald Archer... "Recreating Catastrophe"
Green Arrow #8- May, Year 2	by Jae Lizhini

The red sports car slowed as its wheels crunched over the soft gravel, which was all that remained of a former driveway. The graveled driveway ran across a desolate valley of large rocks and scatters of weeds before stopping at the walls of the now run down apartment complex. The deep brown colored building gave little to its former glory. The windows were boarded up, long weeds tickled along its base, and streaks of white concrete webbed across the paint, which was now bubbled and had starting to peel away.

The shimmering red car came to a stop at the edge of the once parking lot. The engine roared one last time before the ignition was truncated, the engine cast away to the silence of the broken valley of buildings that enveloped this area of Rome. Despite being a city full of ruins, this area of the city felt more like a ghetto, or project development than an area any of them had seen before. It was hard to believe that they were in an area only thirty miles away from Appia Way proper.

“You know before we get into it, I’d not mind getting a uniform,” Connor spoke as he stepped from the passenger side doorway. His mocha colored abdomen covered in goose pimples from the sudden cool air that blew about the desolate area.

“I don’t mind,” Crackshot spoke with a smile, her lanky body sliding from the car’s interior.

“I don’t remember asking your opinion,” Green Arrow announced in a sudden bout of anger and frustration.

“Come on, kid, we don’t need to be fighting amongst ourselves,” Flyers said to the teenager. “Plus there’s an extra Green Arrow special in the trunk. Though I still think you should really think about putting a little something extra in the spandex. You go through those things like nobody’s business. A little Kevlar ain’t ever hurt anyone.”

“I prefer the basics,” Green Arrow told his guardian, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Offer’s still good, if you want it, kid. I got some friends who could really make you quite an effective costume. Make Batman jealous.” Flyers smiled as he slipped a cigarette between his lips. Briefly he took in a breath, before he turned his head to Crackshot. “And while the kid’s getting changed, how about we see if we can’t find the passage into the Catacombs?”

Crackshot took another look at the open stomach of Green Arrow with a pout. “Oh just ruin all a girl’s fun.”

“Your father could be in danger if not dead… and despite how much I like a healthy libido, we got more important things to do.”

“Yeah I know,” she spoke as though she was just scolded.

Flyers didn’t wait for her last line of words as he had already lit his cigarette and was walking towards the boarded up door. He stood there a moment, his fingers curling around his glasses covering his deep caramel eyes, taking in the strain and quality of the lumber. It was without much of a flinch that the once licensed assassin brought his left foot forward, his heavy boot crushing the timber in one calculated kick. The door squeaked at the strain as it pushed itself open. “After you…” He smiled at Crackshot taking another drag off his cigarette.

Catacombs
Appia Way, Rome

The Catacombs took on the silence of death, a lot more resilient than most would assume for a coffer of corpses. Hatchet stayed silent as his gaze watched the huddle of police officers near the taped off death scene. He could hear their whispers echo throughout the underground hollow. He did not enjoy waiting, as he had for the last two hours. Waiting for the officials to repute his command, his order for them to reenact the death of Jennings… for a clue as to what happened to his prey… and yet more importantly what had happened to the documents, which his boss, Milo Armitage sought. It was the only reason the crimson and gold clad assassin stood silently at all. It was why he seemingly put up with their bureaucracy and uneasiness. In Hatchet’s mind, the weak should suffer the strong, and only the fit should survive. Even if he himself was only the holder of a power given to him by the armor he wore, a creation to rival the Oan Lantern technology. It of course had its limitations, just as all technology did.

“Mister Hatchet.” One of the officers finally spoke up in his direction. Shaken words that caused the villain to move from his stilled stance; however he did not speak or give a gesture other than the movement of his body towards the speaker. “None of the men are willing to volunteer. You have to understand the rumors about this place… the religion, the stories.”

“Stories?” Hatchet spat as he moved forward, his left hand drawn from his side; buzzed in a flicker of fuchsia colored light. “I don’t care about your ethnic stigma. If all your men are too weak to take a little nick on the hand by a razor covered vent, then perhaps you do not pick your police officers very well.” He shrugged his shoulders-- the golden shoulder pads-- grinded in the red spandex. “Big Uzis and Kevlar battle gear is what they hide behind… yet too craven to help solve a murder. Very well… Jones!”

From the group of armed men behind the armored villain, one man’s head arched up. His blond hair slid across his well-toned face. Thick muscled cheekbones split across his smooth features. “Sir?” he asked in a deep southern accent.

“You are going to help us recreate Jennings’s death,” Hatchet said to his soldier in a method that proved it was an order not a request. “I hope that I have your support in helping us find out just where… our Mr. Jennings went to.”

The officers looked around at one another. Some of them carried expressions of worry and concern before the superior nodded his head. “At one hundred percent.”

Hatchet let a smile craft over his strong features. His eyes watched the crowd of officers who all looked back almost blankly. “We will need someone to tell us what you think happened,” the assassin spoke. His eyes covered under the red visor, scrolled past all the police officers that stood in chorus. Each officer turned their head to others, each one whispering in soft prayer of sound. “Not this again. Who’s the expert here?” Hatchet growled.

“I’m from the Homicide Division.” One feminine voice spoke out from the group of officers. The woman stood a head over the tallest officer, and she was dressed in a deep burgundy trench coat, a yellow tank top slid over her lithe body stopping only at a pair of olive cargo pants that swallowed her brown boots. “And I’ll do this.”

“Finally someone not repressible,” Hatchet spat to the police officers, his eyes watching the strikingly beautiful Italian woman. Her deep skin looked chiseled from stone; her high cheekbones came to a point, her deep black hair curled in waves, splashing down her face. Yet Hatchet found himself instantly drawn to her eyes. Even in this dim lighting they looked to be violet. It was not until she stopped a few feet in front of him that he dropped his gaze, his head searching to Jones. “Okay so have at it,” he said finally.

“As you wish my liege,” she said in a tone that matched deep rusty tar. Her small shoulders rolled back as she walked past the villain. Her red trench coat caught billows of tuff as she walked. Her face did not stare nor did her body quit moving until she came to the far edge the bend. She slipped her large coat from her arms, her body moving in a quick pattern, her arm slipping gracefully to catch her jacket in a secular motion.

Jones walked up towards her, his eyes gradating towards her modest chest. “You had better concentrate on the task at hand,” the detective growled. “I’m going to go through it once from start to finish stopping when Jennings’ motions changed. George get the chalk so we can mark this.”

Condemned Apartments
North of Appia

The light of a flashlight tore through the darkened corridor of the once apartment. The yellow shimmering pillar danced across dust covered floored and shined over thick cobwebs as two pairs of feet padded over the junk strewn floor. Eddie Flyers brought his large hand forward; fingers plunged into yet another batch of thick frost covered spider webs clearing the passage of a long hallway. As the flashlight’s column of illumination scrolled down the hallway, Flyers tried being careful not missing anything that could be problematic, before he continued his stride. Melanie Jennings, better known as the assassin Crackshot, followed behind the ex-CIA expeditor as they made their way across the floor. The briefest of lights caught her platinum blond hair that clung frictionless across her smooth features. “Do you have any idea where this hidden chamber is?” Crackshot asked, her voice carrying an echo across the deserted halls.

“Sort of,” Ironhorse grunted, as he continued to walk across the corridor. His left hand stayed at the butt of his gun as he walked, unsure what was on these walls. Judging by the boards he assumed that no homeless took refuge here but one could never be too careless. At least as far as Flyers was concerned.

“Sort of?” Crackshot let out an amused purr to stimulate from her lips as she followed him. She was almost unaware if they were walking into a trap or if it was perfectly safe. As her job as mercenary, and even before that as a hired gun for Milo Armitage and Daniel Rayner made it quite plain when she needed her guns. It was always obvious. She lacked the training and instinct of Eddie Flyers, though in her defense there were very few people who had the talent of Ironhorse. To most mercenaries, and those knowledgeable about gunrunning, her included, Eddie Flyers was a legend.

“It’s what I said.” Eddie grunted bemused, at her words and her vocal expressions. His ears took in every gesture she made every sound of her feet. Despite how he acted he was not 100 percent trusting of this girl. He didn’t let it on, but the main reason she was here, was because she was a good shot, and was the only key to finding his old friend Wild Bill. “My contact said there should be a hollow in the floor of the east most room, here on the first floor. I got a print out of the map… but let’s just say I’ve seen McNally Dot Com maps that made more sense.”

“I see,” she said as she continued to follow him. “And which way exactly is east?” she spat.

“Well Princess, it would be the way were walking... Wouldn’t that make the most sense?”

“You’re insufferable sometimes, Eddie,” she said her hand sliding across her hair in frustration.

“Well you know what they say; annoyance is the first sign of bonding.” He smiled as he continued to scale the walls with the flashlight.

Crackshot smiled to herself, trying to bite her bottom lip as not to give off more that she was willing. Despite his boisterous demeanor and all around chauvinistic manners he was quite charming in a ‘Han Solo’ sort of way. “Well I’d not bet the farm on that,” she said finally when suddenly Eddie came to a stop. The flashlight slid across the handle to an old door. The light caught the thick build up of spider webs that engulfed the door well in a fine thick volume. “I’m beginning to think I’m trapped in an Adam’s family rerun,” She spoke.

Eddie said not a word to her as he brought his hand forward; his fingers cleared some of the cobwebs before his hand circled about the bronze doorknob that lay implanted into the dusty wooden door. His wrist twisted on the knob, and pulled the door open with a squeak. He took a step back for a sight, as the flashlight slipped over the empty room. “Come on,” Eddie spoke in a smaller whisper. His foot falls padded across the floor. His heels careful to clank against the floor board looking for the hollow.

Crackshot waited until he was all the way into the room before she followed behind him. Her body moved in sweeping motions as she watched the legend in front of her walk. “Shouldn’t we wait for Arrow?” she asked as she walked into the room. “He doesn’t even have a flashlight.”

“One thing you’ll learn about the kid,” Eddie said to her over his shoulder, “Is that you never underestimate him. The kid spent most of his life training his body and senses. Despite how he tends to mess up, he’s got a lot going for him. A little lack of lighting won’t stop him.”

“I guess I see your point,” Crackshot spoke.

“Here we go,” Eddie said after a few moments of his walk across the floor. He clacked his heel on the ground again. Sliding onto his haunches his fingers slid into his pocket pulling out a crimson handled Swiss army knife. He flicked the blade outwards, and drove the blade into the carpet. The blade easily plunged into the carpet of the floorboard. “Oh yeah…easy as pie…”

Connor Hawke had finally finished tying the new mask across the bridge of his nose. His fingers smoothed over the tight folds of dark green. It always felt weird to put on a new costume after using one for so long. The smell was nice though. He would have to get the other suit repaired, after he got back home. Eddie was right, Connor mused to himself, as he bent down to grab the wooden handled bow; he really did go through suits quickly.

“You weren’t running from me were you?” a familiar voice called out from behind him. Even before he had turned around he knew who it was. The ringing in his ears announced the presence of Sonar… a man whom had wrecked a block of downtown Rome only hours before hand*. Green Arrow’s body went down low as he turned to face the red haired giant, the young archer’s hand scooping up an arrow from his quiver at the same moment as his hips curved around and feet spun about face.

[*Sonar-tore Rome a new ass in Green Arrow #7]

“You really do earn your paycheck,” Green Arrow mused. “Milo must be offering you quite the reward.”

“It’s not just about the reward, archer.” Sonar let a smile rip across his face, his balled up fist exploding in a reddish hue of energy. “Your death will also affect my true enemy. Sure it’s not real vengeance... but Green Lantern will feel that soon enough.”

So this is about Kyle? Green Arrow thought as he tensed the arrow across the bowstring. Well buddy I hope you haven’t gotten yourself into more trouble than you can handle. The hero looked at Sonar’s deep set eyes filled with an explosive rage. “Well what ever Green Lantern did, it was no excuse to endanger other people. If it’s me you want… for your suffering… that I can live with. But I can’t let you go on a murder rampage and continue a destructive tangent. You have no right to limit people’s decisions. I will not allow you to.”

“Big talk… from a little boy…” Sonar spat as he threw his hand forward, the red energy ripping into rings toward the red sports car. Green Arrow went low releasing the arrow before he dropped into a shoulder roll. The car’s windows shattered and the tires popped instantly, yet the single arrow still stealthily sang through the sky-- The arrow plunged into the thigh of the villain.

Sonar let out a cry as the arrowhead plunged into one of the areas that still contained flesh. Green Arrow however didn’t wait to see where it hit. He stretched out his body, his hands catching the pavement as he performed a haphazard back spring into the air. His two feet stretched out long ways, heels catching the villain who had just been shocked that he’d been hit by the arrow.

The force of the hero’s kick sent the villain wheeling backwards, his teeth gnashed hard. The giant fell without much resistance to the ground. Green Arrow landed on his haunches as his left hand scooped up another arrow from his quiver. “You made the wrong decision coming here,” the boy said his arrow pointed at the head of the fallen villain. “You are injured, and I’d not even spar with you, if I had the choice.”

“You are injured too.” Sonar said pulling himself from the ground-- spitting blood from his mouth. “I can hear the ribs rattling around in your guts.”

“Without suffering there is no life,” Green Arrow whispered from memory his fingers tensing on the bow. He watched as Sonar tried to pull himself to his feet the arrow wedged in his thigh draining blood down his leg. “It’s not worth it…” he said finally.

“What’s not worth it?” Sonar growled, his hands reaching for the soil.

“You, me… revenge... violence… all of it,” Green Arrow muttered. He felt as though everything he held dear, every belief and concept of morality, had suddenly been opposed by this man… “Stay down; you’ve already lost a lot of blood. And I do not wish to hurt you any further.”

“A real man would finish me,” Sonar said finally getting to his haunches. “A warrior, like your father would have.” His hand began to glow again the red light shimmering in his closed fist.

Green Arrow stood up quickly. “I am not my father!” His hips turned his right leg stretched out and spun around, his foot catching the side of the mammoth skull. The Tai-Chi-foci form kick was slow and precise; his toes hit the lower left side of the cranium, hitting the nerve center. “But my father would never kill.”

Sonar stared blankly at the hero for a moment, shocked by the light tap that he barely registered, yet as he tried to open his mouth he fell back on the ground, rendered unconscious. “I am sorry… ” Green Arrow said in a hoarse whisper. “We are both products of our emotions.”

Catacombs
Appia Way, Rome

The blond haired mercenary, Jones watched as the homicide detective finished her solo recreation of “Wild” Bill Jennings’s alleged death. He couldn’t help but watch the attractive police officer’s form every time she bent over; the loose covered pants tightening up near her rear every time she bent over. He was sure they did not make women like that in America. Finally she stopped near the vent. Her hand slicked back her long loose hanging hair, tucked neatly behind her ears. “Now this is where Jennings would have fallen. His hand slid forward and his palm caught this vent.”

“Okay,” Jones said. His voice was loud but his gaze moved from the detective to Hatchet who was watching, with much concentration. The detective stood by the police tape as she watched Jones prepare himself. All of the police officers looked just as interested in the events as Hatchet. Perhaps they’d finally get an answer to all of this. Jones’ eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. He took off in a jog before hitting the first wall, his back edged against it.

“At this point he’s been shot in the leg,” the detective reminded the mercenary.

Jones nodded his head and lunged forward into a limp, his hands sliding haphazardly against the wall before he came to the next mark. He remembered this one, and let his body again be forced against the wall, pinned by the weight of his right shoulder. He leaned forward again limping as he made it to the last chalk mark.

“Now this is where you lean forward,” the detective reminded him; her own body lurched forward as she watched him closely. Hatchet took a few steps forward as well his eyes staying steady on Jones.

Jones took a deep breath; he could feel the erratic beat of his heart as he moved. His body motioned forward, hit the ground and slid. His wrist slid across the floor, towards the vent. Everyone in the room got deathly still, as his body swam forward. As his palm slid over the vent, the blades separated his skin, lines of blood drained from the wound. And just as it had done only days before the blood rolled into the same trail over the floor as it did with Jennings.

Dark red lines of the man’s blood ran in dizzied streams forming a circle at first and then triangles began to appear. The red lines of Jones’ blood began to glow. The detective leaped forward onto the pentagram as well as the room was filled in a bright light. Guns began to be locked and loaded, from both Hatchet’s mercenaries as well as the police officers. The sounds of grating rock and stone echoed off over their ears.

Hatchet instinctively summoned a fuchsia colored shield around his body just as towers of thick laser poured from the pentacle. Hatchet could not see much aside from the lights of the lasers themselves. The intense heat warmed his body, as he continued to concentrate on his shielding. He could feel his very brain pound in pain. He took a few steps back from the laser but it did little good. The protective shielding he had summoned with his armor crackled and hissed. He held his breath. Surely this was going to be it.

But then the lasers halted. The glow from the pentagram faded… leaving the room void and silent.

Hatchet fell back on his ass, his body suddenly numb from the insanity. Scattered all around him were the skeletal remains of the police officers and his men. Hatchet’s heart raced steadily against his chest. Never had he seen such a powerful laser, or a weapon. He was sure that despite what Milo had brought him here for, this defense mechanism would be worth much to him as well. Finally after several moments, Hatchet once again forced himself to smile.

Condemned Apartments
North of Appia

Partly, Green Arrow was sure he should not have left Sonar unconscious with little supervision. The villain was a beast in the surest version of the word. Yet judging how the last battle the two of them had, was just outside a police station*, he was under the suspicion that his step father had cut some kind of deal with the local authorities. There was nothing more he could do, he had to stay with the teachings, no matter how he felt. Sonar continued to attack him, and it was the decision he made. To inflict other people with no choice, but to in midst of the violence- perhaps that was truly what being a super hero was about. Green Arrow knew deep down that he would not return home after Crackshot’s father was found. He felt himself swaying much, and he needed a break. A place where he could come to some understanding, about which he was now, what the mask of Green Arrow meant to him. For now he had to continue to help his friend, to help one man who got caught up in the wrong thing… A man whose life depended on the actions he made, not the words.

[[The battle happened last issue]]

The young archer’s footfall clamped dryly across the dust and debris that lay across the floor, hidden in the deep darkness that escalated through the room. He quieted his thoughts as he realized the light trails, which slid through the windows that had been offering some sense of navigation in the dark chambers were gone. Though he had learnt at the Ashram never to focus too fully on one sense, sight equally so. His hands felt across the walls as he continued his steps his ears listening to the echoes his feet made, his nose taking in the misty scents. It was only about fifteen steps in that he heard a thud from the east of the place. Green Arrow could feel his heart lurch in his chest as he strode towards the sound. He wanted to think it was Crackshot, and Eddie, but he could never be too careful. That of course was something that Ollie had taught him all those months ago.

As he walked he could of course hear the distant hums of conversations, bouncing off the aged drywall, getting a small bit louder as he continued to walk east. The voices were unrecognizable merely just sounds, which clipped across the kid’s ears. Finally the sounds came to a sudden loudness, as the archer came to a stop at the eastern most doors. His short blond covered head swiftly turned to face the door. The mumbles of sounds were identifiable at this point before they stopped completely; after the second loud thump sound, escalating from the door. Green Arrow brought his hand across the door feeling the small fragile strands of cobwebs before he landed his fingers on the cold door. His shoulder lunged forward as he turned the knob, the door squeaking as it separated from the door frame.

The room had a semblance of light that resonated from a hole that was coming from the center of the room. The coffee colored carpet had been torn away in a section where the hole now was. A small halo of light was soft and licked across the room. The Archer could hear footfalls echoing through the distance. His foot falls arched forward as he made it to the strange hole. His left hand instinctively went for an arrow as he bent down into the hole in the ground. “Eddie?” he called.

“Kid, what are you waiting for? Get down here!” Eddie’s voice boomed as the flashlight whirled its way back up to the hole. “It’s not that far of a jump.”

“Yeah, okay,” Green Arrow announced as he closed his eyes and leaped through the hole. Air rushed over his ears for only a split second before his feet thudded onto the concrete below. A thud of slapping soles echoed through the corridors. The vibration of the fall shook his body.

“So what took you so long?” Crackshot spoke even before the archer flicked his eyes back open and resumed his normal height.

“Sonar Verses Green Arrow: Round Two!” the archer announced.

“The police really seem to be playing the whole super hero game ass backwards,” Eddie replied

“We can worry about that later Eddie,” the boy said as he walked behind them. His foot falls echoed through the concrete corridor they were now in. “First things first, getting to those catacombs and finding Crackshot’s Dad.

“Touché kid.” Eddie smiled his moustache rising to rub against his nose.

Her name is Detective Mori Montello, a homicide detective for the Italian Police division in Rome. For the last seven years of her life she has spent most of her time looking at crime scenes and finding rational explanations for murder, though never in her time had she sought rational explanations for herself, or her life. Detective Montello never asked questions. She knew exactly what her place was, and knew in order to do a little good in the world she’d have to do a little dirty. Being the daughter of Brandon Montello, head of one of the largest crime families in Italy, she grew up knowing this. Stick your head in the sand, and do what is required of you… never ask questions. Yet today, her life had changed.

She was sure that she was in one of the catacombs under the streets of Rome, looking at a super villain named Hatchet, before the bright lights started. Her own decision to reach forward and check on the man, called Jones might have saved her life, even if she didn’t quite understand why she did it. Yet despite where she was… and what she did, she wasn’t in the Catacombs anymore.

The detective lifted her head up from the wet grass her body was spread out against. Her thick dark hair clung to her face saturated with dew on the long blades. She heard the patter of horse hooves across the flat lands-that had to be what made her bring her head up. But what she saw almost made her pass out right there in the grass. The landscape before her looked to be out of a history book. To her left a thick set of a limestone road snaked from as far as the eye could see off into the distance. The distance forecasting large buildings, whose surface seemed haste but the shapes… the shapes she knew quite well. Buildings with large bowed arches attached to hold the enormous rock and wood. Stone buildings lain across aqueducts. There were no cars, no tourists… only a single horse with a mounted rider, whom came to a stop right in front of her.

The brown furred mare was lined with strips of metallic armor covering its forehead and circling around its torso like a coat, gleaming in the morning sun. The rider himself wore a similar style of armor, his skull trapped into a square looking helmet leaving a rectangular column open for his face. His body armor was almost entirely thick leather, colored dark brown with pieces of metal lining his forearms, and a cape flowing down his back. But the thing that got her wasn’t the brush that ran like a Mohawk over the helm, nor was it the sword and shield he carried. One could say it wasn’t even the fact that he looked like a Centurion from the history books. It was the fact the man spoke the best Latin she had ever heard. < Stay where you are! > he commanded in his precise Latin.

The detective tried to rise up when she saw Jones laying across from her. His body was sprawled out on a slab of stone that sat just adjacent to her, his body curled up against the rock. She wanted to say something to the Centurion --to use the Latin she had learned over the course of her life-- who stood on his horse his hand gesturing to his blade. But she was at a loss for words. She couldn’t even begin to copulate how she had found herself in the past-- Or where she was exactly.

The gathered water splattered as heavy footfalls splashed their way through the concrete maze that snaked around Rome six hundred or so feet underground. The trio of Eddie Flyers, Crackshot, and Green Arrow stayed virtually quiet the last ten miles of hiking they had verged the past half and hour. Their strides were long and unrelenting. Eddie was the only one who seemed at all winded, and was now dragging behind, his eyes trying figure out where they were on the map. “So any clue on how much further, Eddie?” Green Arrow asked in his continued heavy stride.

“Shouldn’t be too much further…” Eddie grumbled as his fingers traced over the now wrinkled and torn map print out.

“You said that fifteen minutes ago, and I think I saw that same dead rat already three times,” Crackshot groaned.

“Now don’t get your undies in a bunch,” Eddie reprimanded her. “It’s not as though the cops have moved in the last fifteen hours or so.”

“He’s got a point actually.” Green Arrow smiled as his walk continued.

“Arrow, I’d advise you to shut your mouth. This is my dad we’re talking about. Not all of us have Underworld Kingpins as daddies.”

“Well Milo isn’t really the kid’s best friend. Actually we found out about his stepfather for the first time when he was trying to kill us. If it wasn’t for that Ring kid-“

“Kyle.”

“I know. Kyle, Green Lantern… big satellite... Where I tried to kill both of you…” Crackshot spat

“Anyways… like you have a lot of room to talk. Wild Bill was not the Mother Teresa in any stretch of the imagination,” Eddie explained.

“I know my father is a crook. Hell, his baggage is what led me down the road I’m on. My skills and the hiring to Armitage by me, was actually payment for one of his stupid get rich quick schemes. So do don’t patronize me-either of you!” Crackshot’s voice echoed across the tunnel.

“Calm down the both of you,” Green Arrow warned right before he felt a slight tremor across his feet. “Wait did either of you just feel that?”

“GET DOWN!” Flyers called out as a blinding flash exploded from the wall, pieces of rock and concrete slamming through the tunnel. Eddie’s body pushed Crackshot forward their bodies hitting the pavement like a sack of rotten fruit. Green Arrow’s body flipped backwards into a series of handsprings, as the large rocks crumbled across his path. As the young archer came to a stop-- the rocks achieved a final slow crumble exposing the steam of gaseous debris. Green Arrow’s eyes narrowed through his mask. His friends, Crackshot and Eddie, were all that were on his mind.

For a moment Connor Hawke thought about Master Jensen, thought about his lessons, as one phrase came to his mind at that very moment… one parable, the one that he was trying to do something about. The one even his father knew by heart. “Life is about decisions, the ability to choose your path; nothing can take this away but violence.” A silhouette walked through the mist of gas even as the hero slid his bow from his shoulder. His right hand squeezed the oak handle. His left hand drew an arrow from the hemp quiver that lay on his back.

“I don’t know what’s more important to Mr. Armitage,” a familiar voice called from the fading dust and debris. “Your death, or Jennings’, but delivering them both should be quite the compensation.”

Green Arrow did not say a word, his eyes tensed, his body loose as he notched the arrow into the bow’s string. The handle squeaked as he watched the form begin to flicker with energy. A fuchsia colored gun formed over the villain’s left hand. The archer let the weight begin to rotate to his left hips as the sounds of the energy began to solidify. The high pitched squealing of the gun he created gave the boy enough warning. He leaned forward tossing his shoulders up and over his legs, his arms curving as he continued to follow the villain’s bead. He knew the weakness, he had fought Hatchet a few times already, and the armor’s gauntlets were the source of the power. The blast launched from behind the archer as he came to a rest. Bringing his bow upwards he let the arrow fly.

The arrow sang across the distance between the two combatants. Hatchet saw the arrow as he turned his head, his gauntlet glowing again as a large buckler shield formed in front of him blocking the arrow from its strike. “You are gonna have to do better than- “

Hatchet had little time to speak out his next set of words as a green blur leaped towards him. The martial artist’s leg curved around in a surreal beauty, his knee locking in place-- his toes caught the side of the villain’s face. Spittle escaped Hatchet’s lips as his body was tossed backwards, through the hole in the wall he made. The villain’s armor covered body clanked as the weight impacted the ground.

Green Arrow walked through the hole as well. His deep green eyes gleamed with a ferocity that left very little resemblance to his training. As much as the boy would love to think of himself as a disciplined Buddhist, training monk or not-- it was evident there was something in his eyes, painted across his reflection that did away with such concepts.

Hatchet felt the pain across his back and his shoulder as he attempted to right himself. The archer had a tendency to know how to distract him. It would not have been so embarrassing if it was not the first time he had done that. Skilled was an understatement. It didn’t do him justice but managed to give truth of despite not being a Meta, or powered in anyway. He still fought with the best heroes… just as his father did-- just as others like Wildcat and the Batman did. But skill could only take one so far.

The energy crackled across the left gauntlet of the villain as a gun materialized hovering just ahead of him. “As fun as this is,” Hatchet spat, “this is over.” The gun hummed to life even as he spoke. Green Arrow however didn’t take a moment to react. His left hand, which still held his bow swung back, the wooden weapon whistling in the wind. His right leg bent inwards-- his left leg was brought up slamming into the visor that the villain wore, his body sliding across the ground, the weapon fizzling into nothing. The archer leaped forward towards the villain. His mouth gaped as he felt his anger flowing through every pore of his body.

Hatchet brought his legs up. Metal boots impacted the boy’s abdomen. Green Arrow twisted in the air. His body swam, a groan sounding as he hit the ground. Hatchet turned to where the boy fell, the fuchsia colored energy materializing brass knuckles over his hands as he lunged at the archer. There was little time for Green Arrow to do more than turn his head, the armored knuckles attacking his face.

Blood escaped the boy’s mouth as he felt his face battered the first few times. He felt like his body was on fire. Finally he managed to move a shoulder forward spacing him from the man on top of him. His right hand came forward batting at the chin of Hatchet sending him rolling. Green Arrow turned trying to grip the floor. Hatchet was moving to lunge at him again. He tried to get a hand on something to get himself off the floor, when he felt his palm suddenly sliced.

His head looked up to see where his hand had landed when Hatchet’s fist landed across his skull again. Sending his body wheeling he turned to face him, bringing his bow face up catching the villain’s chest. Red lines of light began to swirl around the floor between the combatants. Both hero and villain seemed oblivious to it as they continued to cask for control.

‘Course it was to late by then.

Neither Green Arrow, nor Hatchet saw the signs until a sudden crackle of energy engulfed them. The archer’s eyes dilated fully, his eyesight being whited out by the sudden explosion in which he was the epicenter. He felt his body radiating with the fire from the glow. He would not remember much after that… as consciousness soon left him.

The room was empty as the glowing faded, two new burnt silhouettes in the center of the cavern... one which rendered the long bow still gripped in a hero’s hand.

Next Issue: Told ya you wouldn’t believe it, but next issue it gets even crazier as Hatchet and Green Arrow battle it out for the life of Wild Bill… and what about that insane guy Sonar, Eddie Flyers, and Crackshot? Well let’s just say that the past won’t be the only place being lit up!

Story © 2005 Jae Lizhini and may not be reproduced without permission.