Oliver Queen had never been particularly fond of the supernatural. He was no stranger to the occult – hell, a day in Star City isn’t complete without some rich guy making a deal with some devils – but over the course of his time as Green Arrow, there hasn’t been a day where he wasn’t tempted to just call onto Zatanna or John Constantine. And something was telling him that today… was one of those days.
He’d been patrolling Adams Heights with Mia and Connor when it happened. The change was instant, like a scene changing in a movie. The urban jungle of Star City’s CBD was replaced by a literal jungle, thick underbrush crowding around Oliver’s feet. Panicked, He looked around frantically for his ward and his son, his panic soon replaced by familiarity as he realised where he was. There were differences, that’s for sure, but there was no denying it: he was on Lian Yu.
His mind raced for an explanation as to how he’d gotten here, but despite his best efforts, nothing came to him – nothing but a single word. Magic. The archer swore at his misfortune. Of course it had to be magic. It couldn’t be Lex Luthor’s newest death machine, or the Toyman’s new and improved interdimensional, technological teleportation device. No. Magic. Honest to god, Doctor Fate-style magic. If Oliver didn’t know any better, he’d have punched a tree by now.
Instead, he decided to do some recon. Whoever brought him here – to this cheap mockery of his island – must have brought him here for a reason. As far as he knew, this was one gigantic trap waiting to snap its jaws at him. With an arrow nocked on his bow, he began to creep through the tangle of green, looking out for anything that might clue him towards a threat.
It wasn’t long before he found one. The years he spent surviving on the real Lian Yu honed his eyes to the point that some mistook his vision to be at metahuman levels – so where someone else may have dismissed the camouflaged hooded figure as part of the vegetation, Oliver knew better. As he crept closer towards the man, a quiver and bow came into sight. A guy wearing green, carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows? This person was a fan.
Gaze transfixed on the man’s back, Oliver didn’t notice the small bush until it was too late. It rustled loudly as his foot waded through it, and the man turned with speed that rivalled his own, arrow pulled back tight on the bowstring. Oliver’s brows furrowed. This guy looked near-identical to him, bar the severe lack of goatee. It didn’t make any sense. Then again, magic never does, he thought.
“I’m sorry, pal, this isn’t a good time for a Green Arrow convention. Your costume is terrible by-the-way,” said his impostor, wearing a grin that Oliver knew all too well. The grin he’d flash whenever Dinah was mad at him, or when Connor made him talk about his feelings. He was nervous.
“My costume’s terrible? Hey, now, listen, guy – ” he cut himself off before he said anything brash. The last thing he needed was to fight the person that could very well be his only means for some answers. “What the hell is going on here?”
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