Oliver Queen had finally returned to Starling City after five years of presumed death. Marcus, Thea, and Moira stood outside his hospital room, listening intently as the doctor gave his report. While Thea's eyes were solely on her long-lost brother, filled with relief and joy, Marcus's attention was split. He was listening to the doctor with sharp focus, knowing that the man was a member of Malcolm Merlyn's secret cabal—the same group responsible for sinking the Queen's Gambit.
The doctor went over Oliver's physical state, marveling at how well he had survived such harsh conditions on the island. Marcus knew better. Oliver had been through hell, but it was a hell that had shaped him into something far more dangerous than anyone could imagine. Once the tests were complete and the discharge papers signed by Moira, they all left the hospital and headed back to Queen Mansion.
The car ride was silent, as expected. Oliver barely spoke, his mind undoubtedly racing as he processed his return to civilization and the mission that awaited him. Marcus knew exactly what his brother was thinking. He'd seen the shift in Oliver's eyes the moment he'd laid eyes on him—his brother was already planning his next move, no doubt thinking about the book of names that would lead him on his crusade to save Starling City.
As they arrived at the mansion, Thea had stayed close to Oliver, as if afraid he might vanish again. Moira, though relieved to have her son back, remained distant, her own guilt and secrets keeping her from fully embracing him. Oliver excused himself to his room shortly after arriving, saying he was tired from the journey and needed rest. Thea soon followed, leaving only Marcus and Moira in the study.
Marcus sat at the large mahogany desk, going through paperwork for the company. His mind, though filled with company acquisitions and lab designs, was equally concerned with Oliver's next steps and the dangers that lay ahead. One of the new facilities he was preparing to build would carry Robert Queen's name, a symbol of his father's true legacy, though hidden for now.
Moira broke the silence as she leaned against the fireplace mantle, staring into the flames. "Marcus," she began, her voice soft but laden with unspoken questions, "you've been so quiet through all of this. I'm just curious...what are your thoughts? You've hardly said anything since Oliver came back."
Marcus didn't respond immediately. He signed off on a few documents, his pen gliding across the paper effortlessly, his thoughts carefully controlled. Only after placing the last document aside did he close the file and turn toward his mother. His gaze was cool, as if he were assessing her, weighing how much he should truly say.
Finally, he spoke, his tone neutral but with an unmistakable edge. "My thoughts, Mother? I think you listened very carefully to the doctor's report today...or should I say, Malcolm's report? Did you hear what he said? Oliver has been dragged through hell—through the very seven rings of Dante's Inferno—and yet, he survived."
His words hung in the air for a moment, and Moira's eyes flickered with unease. She wasn't sure what to say, knowing that Marcus was right—Malcolm had his hands in everything, even the doctors they had trusted with Oliver's care.
Marcus's voice grew colder as he continued, "But, I have to commend you. You finally found a way to teach Oliver a lesson. The boy who left Starling City five years ago—a whoremongering, sleazy party boy—he's dead. The man who returned? That's a different story entirely."
Moira's lips parted, but no words came out. She realized that Marcus had known far more than she ever expected. There was no hiding from him—not from the son who had always watched from the shadows, controlling everything while letting others believe they held the reins.
After a long pause, Marcus shifted the conversation. "The labs I'm building...they'll carry Father's name. I think it's time his legacy was honored properly. Robert Queen was a visionary, and he deserves to be remembered for that, don't you think?"
Moira nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes... he does."
But the tension remained, thick and suffocating. Marcus returned his attention to the papers, but his mind was already moving ahead. He knew Oliver's path was set. The Green Arrow would rise soon, but the world wasn't ready for what was coming—not for Oliver, and certainly not for the hidden hand that Marcus Queen had been playing for years.
In the silence of the study, Marcus smiled to himself.
This was only the beginning.
The night was thick with the weight of an approaching storm, one that seemed to mirror the chaos about to unravel in Starling City. Rain tapped steadily against the windows of the Queen Mansion as thunder growled in the distance. Inside, Marcus Queen moved silently through the mansion's corridors, his thoughts heavy, yet his movements deliberate.
Oliver had returned only hours ago, yet everything had changed. Marcus knew his brother wasn't the same carefree boy who had disappeared five years ago. He also knew the storm outside was nothing compared to the one brewing inside Oliver's mind. Their mother, Moira, slept in her room, unaware of the turmoil lurking within her newly-returned son. But Marcus—he knew. He always knew.
Quietly, he made his way to Oliver's room. He wanted to check on his brother, but also to protect his mother from the potential danger Oliver's trauma could pose. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and Marcus spotted his brother lying on the floor—just like in the television series. The window was open, letting in the cold air, as the wind howled through the night, amplifying the tension.
Oliver was restless, his face twisted in a grimace, caught in the grips of a nightmare. His muscles tensed, the years of survival on the island showing in the way he thrashed even in his sleep. Marcus approached, watching closely. He crouched beside his brother and gave him a slight shake, trying to wake him.
"Oliver," Marcus said firmly, shaking him again. "Wake up."
Oliver's reaction was immediate, instinctual, and violent. Before his eyes were even fully open, he lunged at Marcus, throwing a punch with all the precision of a trained fighter. But Marcus was ready. He had expected this. Years of battle-hardened reflexes wouldn't fade overnight, especially not after what Oliver had endured. Marcus easily caught the punch, his grip firm as he repelled the attack. Even in his groggy, half-conscious state, Oliver's strikes were deadly, honed by years of survival on Lian Yu.
But Oliver was no match for Marcus's supernatural strength and speed. As a Weretiger, Marcus had trained himself to perfection—focusing not only on his physical power but on the control of his tiger form. His hand moved faster than Oliver could process, deflecting every strike with ease.
"Enough," Marcus muttered, as he decided to put an end to this. In a fluid motion, he used a Judo counter, sweeping Oliver's legs from beneath him and slamming him onto the bed. The impact was hard enough to make the sturdy wooden frame creak under the force, and for a moment, Oliver lay still, stunned.
Panting, Oliver's eyes snapped open fully, lucid now. His gaze locked onto Marcus, and for a brief second, he was confused. It was as though he didn't recognize his own brother. His pupils shrank as realization set in. He had spent years fighting for his life, honing his body and skills to survive the hellish island, and yet here was Marcus, effortlessly subduing him. The question burned in his mind: Who was this man?
Which of them had truly been stranded? Oliver had endured torture, suffering, and endless danger, but his brother... Marcus had become something else entirely—an inventor, a CEO, and something far more dangerous. Oliver felt the weight of it all, the unspoken question of what Marcus had become during these five long years.
Before Oliver could speak, Marcus slapped his cheeks gently, snapping him out of his swirling thoughts. The sound was sharp but not harsh, and Marcus's voice was low but authoritative.
"You act like a bull with all that power," Marcus said, his tone reminiscent of a wise Wuxia master disciplining a young disciple. "But without focus, you, like the bull, will end up as soup."
The words hit Oliver harder than the physical blow. They weren't just a reprimand—they were a lesson. A reminder that power without control was useless. Oliver blinked, processing the metaphor, his mind racing to catch up with everything that had just happened. But before he could respond, Marcus turned on his heel and left the room, leaving his younger brother lying there, wide-eyed and speechless.
The door closed with a quiet click, and Oliver was left staring at the ceiling, the storm outside intensifying. He replayed the scene in his head, his thoughts tangled. How had Marcus, the brother who had stayed behind to run the family company, become such a force? And what did it mean for him now that he was back?
He had expected to return to a broken home, to a world where he alone carried the weight of Starling City's salvation. But Marcus—his brother—was more than he appeared. Oliver wasn't alone in this fight, and that realization both unsettled and reassured him.
The storm outside raged on, but in Oliver's mind, it had only just begun.
The sun filtered softly through the blinds of Oliver Queen's room, casting long shadows as he rifled through his belongings. His mind was still clouded with thoughts of the previous night—the fight with Marcus. It had been a wake-up call, not just about his brother's strength, but about how much had changed. As his fingers brushed across a small stone arrowhead, Oliver's thoughts drifted to Lian Yu and to Shado, who had given him the arrowhead before her death.
He stared at the artifact, memories swirling, until the door creaked open and Thea stepped in.
"Hey, Ollie," Thea greeted with a smile. She spotted the arrowhead in his hand and tilted her head curiously. "What's that?"
Oliver looked down at the stone in his hand and then back at his sister. "It's a gift," he said softly, handing the arrowhead to her. "For you. I got it on the island from... a friend."
Thea's eyes widened, and she carefully took the arrowhead from him. "Wow, this is... really cool. Thanks, Ollie."
Before she could say more, Tommy Merlyn waltzed in with his signature grin. "An arrowhead, huh? Awesome gift, Thea. I spent five years thinking I was getting something exotic too, but all I got was a lousy t-shirt that says, 'Lost on an island for five years.'" He smirked, his tone light and playful.
Thea rolled her eyes, half-laughing at Tommy's joke. "Nice try, Tommy," she said, clutching the arrowhead as she left the room to get ready for class.
Tommy watched her go, then turned back to Oliver with a more serious expression. The two old friends shared a brief, but meaningful hug before Tommy grinned again. "Alright, Ollie. You're back, and it's been way too long since we had a proper night out. What do you say? We go out, celebrate your return, and plan a massive party. You've gotta be dying after five years in... what did you call it? Hell island?"
Oliver chuckled at Tommy's easy-going nature, but the joke about a "target-rich environment" slid right off him. His mind was elsewhere, fixated on something deeper. "Actually, Tommy, there's something I need to do first."
Tommy raised an eyebrow, curious. "What could be more important than rejoining civilization after five years?" he teased, but when Oliver didn't answer right away, he added more seriously, "What do you want to do, Ollie?"
"I want to see Sara," Oliver said quietly, the weight of her name hanging in the air.
Tommy's lighthearted expression faltered, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Ollie, Sara's... she's been seeing someone. A guy from her office in the Glades. Maybe it's not a good idea to—"
Oliver interrupted, his voice firm but calm. "I still want to see her. She's one of the reasons I made it off that island."
Tommy hesitated for a moment longer, then sighed, seeing the resolve in Oliver's eyes. "Alright," he relented. "If that's what you want."
The two of them left the Queen mansion, driving through the familiar streets of Starling City. The world looked the same, but for Oliver, everything had changed.
When they arrived at the office where Sara worked, Tommy stayed in the car, letting Oliver handle the meeting on his own. Oliver took a deep breath before stepping out, his heart beating a little faster than usual. He made his way inside and found Sara's desk. She was sitting there, focused on her work, completely unaware that Oliver was standing just a few feet away, watching her.
For a moment, Oliver was paralyzed. Memories flooded his mind—the last night they had spent together, the mistakes he had made, and the terrible events that had followed. He had left her, and then everything had gone wrong. His heart raced, unsure of what he would say or how she would react.
But he didn't need to speak. Sara looked up, her eyes locking onto his. The world seemed to stop for both of them. Time stood still as she recognized him, her face a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"Oliver..." Sara whispered, her voice catching in her throat.
Before Oliver could respond, Sara was up and running toward him. She threw her arms around him, catching him off guard. The warmth of her embrace startled him for a moment, but then he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.
For a few seconds, neither of them said a word. The hug was more than just a greeting—it was a connection, a silent understanding of everything that had happened, of all the pain, the guilt, and the hope that had led to this moment.
Sara pulled back slightly, her eyes filled with tears but also a glimmer of happiness. "I can't believe you're here," she said softly.
Oliver smiled, the first real smile he'd managed since returning home. "I made it," he replied, his voice hoarse with emotion.
They stood there in silence for a moment longer, neither of them quite knowing what to say. There was so much left unsaid between them, but for now, the simple fact that they were both standing in the same room was enough.
And outside, in the car, Tommy watched from a distance, unsure of what this reunion would mean for his friend—but knowing that the past was never really gone.
The sun had dipped low in the sky as Oliver Queen left Sara's office after their emotional reunion. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, a soft gesture of reassurance before parting ways. "I'll see you later," she promised with a warm smile before turning back to her work. Oliver's heart felt lighter, but his mind was already shifting gears. There was still much to do, and he had to keep his cover intact.
Tommy was waiting in the car, grinning like the old friend Oliver remembered. "Alright, man! You ready to celebrate being back in style?" Tommy teased as Oliver slid into the passenger seat.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"
Tommy, never one to pass up a lavish experience, drove them to a hidden sushi parlor with an infamous twist: the sushi was served on a nude model's body. Oliver hesitated but, after some cajoling from Tommy, agreed to go along with it to maintain his facade. As strange as the experience was, it served to remind him how far from the world he'd been for the last five years. He played the part well, keeping his darker instincts in check.
Lunch passed, and on their way back to Tommy's car, the air suddenly shifted. Oliver's senses heightened, alert to the looming danger. A group of armed men ambushed them in the alley—thugs, but not just any thugs. These men moved with purpose, and Oliver quickly recognized the familiar shadow behind the attack. This was Merlin's doing.
In this timeline, his mother, Moria, wouldn't have risked her son Marcus' wrath by targeting Oliver, knowing how deeply Marcus was entrenched in the city's underbelly, aware of things others couldn't even imagine. Merlin, however, still had his agenda. With Marcus in control of Queen Consolidated, Malcolm's access to resources was severely limited. He couldn't let Oliver's return disrupt his already fragile plans.
A stun gun crackled, and before Oliver could react, the jolt of electricity surged through his body. His vision blurred, and darkness swallowed him.
Oliver awoke in a damp, dimly lit room. His wrists and ankles were bound to a metal chair, his head pounding as he regained his senses. Tommy was nearby, slumped over, drugged into unconsciousness. Across from him stood the leader of the thugs, sneering with malicious intent.
"Well, well," the man drawled, circling Oliver like a predator. "We want to know what you know about Robert Queen, his condition, and that book your family keeps so close."
Oliver said nothing, his jaw clenched, his mind racing. The waterboarding began, a cruel and relentless form of torture. Round after round, the icy water filled his lungs, but Oliver remained silent. He'd endured worse on the island. These men had no idea who they were dealing with.
Frustrated by Oliver's resistance, the leader snarled. "Fine, if you won't talk, maybe we should bring your little sister, Thea, in here. I'm sure she'll be more... cooperative. We could carve her up, nice and slow, until you feel like talking."
The mention of Thea was the spark that ignited the fire within Oliver. The thugs had unknowingly crossed his reverse scale, the one thing he wouldn't allow anyone to touch. He gritted his teeth, the adrenaline surging through his veins. Beneath his bonds, his muscles tensed.
Just then, as one of the men approached to further intimidate him, Oliver let out a harsh cough, signaling the thug to lean in closer. "What did you say?" the thug sneered, drawing near Oliver's face.
Oliver smiled darkly, his voice low but lethal. "I said... I'm out of my bonds."
Before the man could react, Oliver's hand shot up, gripping the thug's neck with bone-crushing force. In a single, fluid motion, he snapped the man's neck, using his limp body as a shield just as two other thugs opened fire. Bullets thudded into the dead man's back while Oliver moved with deadly precision.
With a surge of strength and skill honed over five years of survival, Oliver dispatched the remaining thugs. He dodged bullets with feline agility, breaking necks and disarming guns in swift, brutal succession. Nine more men fell to his deadly efficiency, until only one remained, trembling and begging for his life.
"Please! Please don't kill me! I won't say a word!" the last thug whimpered, eyes wide with terror.
Oliver's expression was cold, devoid of mercy. "I can't let anyone know my secret," he said, his voice like ice. In a final, decisive movement, he snapped the man's neck.
The room fell silent, the bodies of the fallen scattered around him. Oliver stood still, breathing heavily, his hands bloodied, his heart thumping with the realization that the line between who he was and what he had become had blurred beyond recognition.
As the storm outside raged, so did the storm within Oliver Queen. The vigilante—the Hood—was born in the dark shadows of that room. There was no going back.
The atmosphere at the Queen Mansion was heavy, filled with an underlying tension that couldn't be easily shaken. Hours had passed since the massacre, and Oliver and Tommy were seated in the grand sitting area of the mansion. Detective Lance, with his usual grim demeanor, sat across from them, his partner jotting down notes as Oliver gave his report.
Oliver recounted the events: the thugs, the waterboarding, and the masked man who had supposedly saved him and Tommy. "I lost count of how many times they waterboarded me," Oliver said, his voice hoarse, trying to play the part of the helpless victim. His explanation for why he couldn't give more details was that his vision had been blurred, and he was disoriented during the attack. Tommy, still shaken, added, "I didn't see much—just shadows and blurs near the end."
The paramedics had taken blood samples from both men, testing for any signs of drugs, and documented the bruises on Oliver's neck where the stun gun had been used. Despite the evidence, Detective Lance's sharp gaze never left Oliver. His distrust of the younger Queen was still strong, though tempered compared to the original timeline, since Laral and Sara were safe, and his wife hadn't left him.
"Guess your family'll be paying a king's ransom for all the trouble you've caused," Lance quipped, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. He corrected himself with a smirk, "Or maybe a queen's ransom."
Tommy awkwardly laughed, but the mood was far from light.
After the police left, and Tommy gave Oliver a supportive pat on the back before heading out, Moria Queen took her chance to check on her son. She approached Oliver, concern etched across her face. "Oliver, are you alright? You've been through so much today," she began, her voice soft and worried.
Oliver put on his usual mask, his face betraying no emotion. "I'm fine, Mom. Just tired… It's been a long day." He offered a reassuring smile, but Moria could sense there was more beneath the surface. Still, she knew better than to press him when he was like this.
As Oliver excused himself to his room, Moria turned to find Marcus waiting for her in the adjoining room. He stood near the fireplace, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. It was rare for Marcus to drink—Moria knew he only did so when he was deep in thought or struggling to contain his emotions. The sight sent a ripple of unease through her.
Gathering her courage, Moria approached him. "Marcus… What do you know about what happened tonight?" Her voice wavered slightly, unsure of what she might hear.
Marcus looked up from his tumbler, his expression cold, calculating. "Enough," he replied, his tone flat, yet the weight of the word made Moria's legs feel weak. She knew Marcus had an intelligence network, one that operated in shadows most couldn't even perceive. But tonight, something was different—darker.
"They were Malcolm's men," Marcus said, his voice dripping with disdain. "If the Hood hadn't intervened, Oliver would be dead. And Malcolm would've followed him into hell by tomorrow." The temperature in the room seemed to drop as Marcus spoke, his icy demeanor leaving Moria visibly shaken.
Moria tried to process the information. The Hood, a mysterious vigilante, had saved her son's life. But the implication that Marcus knew so much about Malcolm's involvement terrified her more than anything. She had always feared Malcolm's power, his influence—but Marcus… Marcus was something else entirely. His calm control over the situation and the barely concealed threat in his words made Malcolm's intimidation seem almost trivial in comparison. She now understood that Marcus would stop at nothing to protect his family—and that included exacting a brutal kind of justice if needed.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Oliver wasn't resting. The night air was cool as he slipped out of his room, leaving behind the comforting walls of the mansion. He had a mission tonight—his first as the Hood. His mind was clear, his purpose sharpened like an arrow ready to be released.
The name Adam Hunt burned in his thoughts. A man who had stolen millions from the poor, exploiting those too weak or powerless to fight back. Oliver wasn't that man anymore. He would fight for them. And Adam Hunt would pay.
But as much as Oliver was determined to make Hunt pay, he also wanted to offer him a chance. A chance to give the money back, to turn himself in. Violence wasn't always necessary, but Oliver knew that as the Hood, sometimes it would be required.
The Queen Mansion was still, but in the silence of the night, two brothers were preparing for very different battles. Marcus, wielding his knowledge and influence like a sword in the shadows, and Oliver, stepping into the persona of the Hood, ready to carve out his own form of justice.
As the Hood, Oliver Queen would face many challenges. But tonight, he took his first step—one that would forever blur the line between the man he once was and the vigilante he had become.