“I don't need a medic I need a mechanic.” The young woman says to the African American before her. Tapping her collar bone as if checking her heart-rate she continues. “I am not an alien. Well I am but... I'm also an android.”
Four and a half hours later the woman wakes up, leaning against the back of a medical chair. She gives a cautious look around her, smiling faintly at the young genius to her right. A smile that vanishes when her eyes pass over the imposing man in front of her.
“Listen I don't know if it will mean anything, but I am not intentionally a threat.”
“Good place to start a dialogue from. Why are you here?” The director said.
“To live and through the act of living, to learn what I want out of life.” She said happily. Her face immediately took on a more somber look. “Are the three pillars of sentience intelligence, self-awareness and consciousness? If so, replace one of those with 'self-determination' or add it to make 4 and I would be considered a sentient being. My core intentional protocols are my personality. But my mission statement and my 'reason for being' are mine to discover and decide for myself. Essentially, 'what I want out of life' hasn't been written yet.” She paused and looked around the room, thoughtfully. “I don't know if my people look like this. But I do.”
“Why do you sound like a young child?” The younger man asked haply.
“Because as far as how long I've lived and how much of the world I've seen, I am. I have the same understanding of people and the world as an 11 year-old. I honesty haven't lived enough years to be called an adult. My embedded learning programs give me an understanding and wisdom of the world that would come from having lived at least three times as long as I've been conscious."
“I get the feeling I intimidate you.” The director said suddenly. The young woman started. “You seem confident of exactly where you are, you seem confident being here and yet seem skittish or unsteady when you look at me. And why say all of this at once, unsought?"
“Believe it or not Henshaw, you are known to me. How you see foes where there are friends and see sorcerers where there are but servants. I am doing my best to convince you that I am genuinely friendly.”
“...Then I should be genuine as well.” The human guise of Hank Henshaw faded away and J'onn J'onzz showed his true alien form. That of a green-skinned alien only slightly taller than he had appeared, in armor rather than military garb and with wide, open eyes. In response the woman sat straight up, inclined her head a little bit, as if to say 'thank you for that trust' and spoke in a language other than English. In response to which J'onn inclined his head to her and said in kind. “Thank you. And my name is J'onn J'onzz. This is Winslow Schott.”
“How many languages do you speak?” Winn said suddenly.
“It will take me a while to learn Earth languages other than English. But Earth languages aren't the only ones I know. That was Martian.”
I have a strong desire to shove you against a wall right now, or laugh in your face. And before you ask, the reason I don't is because something deeply nuts has to be happening, or about to happen that's so important...even more important to you than us getting along.”
“As it turns out Malcolm Merlyn IS alive. He's brought the wrath fo Rashe al Ghul, the head of the league of Assassins down on me. Anyone close to me is far game for them... that includes you. And side-note: The Arrow...Are you the one who called me that?”
“I've been calling you that for a few months now.” Captain Lance joked.
“I mean, did you coin the term, were you the one to give me the moniker originally?”
“Yeah, I did.” Lance said matter-of-factly.
“I have to say, I approve.”
“What are we making jokes now?” The Arrow visibly tensed at this remark. “You don't have to approve of my nonsense just because we are allies now.”
“Detective Lance. If I'm making jokes with you it's because I find it easier to be off guard with you now that you're not reflexively pointing a gun at me. Besides, whether hurtful or reassuring, you may be certain I actually mean what I say. I like being called 'The Arrow'. It's short and to the point...like me.”
“I appreciate the honesty. And I thank you for the...forbearance. Why do I feel like I pulled a dark memory to the surface, out of practically nowhere?”
“Dark is apropos. Malcolm Merlyn -The Dark Archer as he called himself- once suggested the vigilante should call himself something other than 'the hood'. He was all stealth and urban camouflage, dressed in black all the way around, he suggested 'Green Arrow', to set us apart from each-other.”
“Reminds me of catching the Captain.” Lance mused..
“...Second that.”
“You know it's weird. When we tag-teamed that day, solving such a weird mystery, I figured that old warehouse was halfway between Arrow base and my office. I never thought you'd park out underneath a dance club. Unless, it's a peaceful middle ground.”
“No Captain, this is Arrow central. I didn't see much reason for safety measures.”
Music begins to play that Lance recognizes, showing him exactly where they are.
“This is Verdant.” The Arrow simply nodded. “And Oliver doesn't mind you using his basement as vigilante central.”
“There's not too much I could do that could ever bother him. Mr. Lance, in 30 seconds, you will probably hate me. But you need to be able to trust me.” There was something in voice which made Captain Lance turn and stare...the sound of the man's real voice. The vigilante known as the Arrow pulled back his hood, revealing himself openly. Quentin Lance stood still, shocked but decidedly non-aggressive. Several moments of silence passed before Oliver spoke up again. “I half-expected you to deck me when you saw this. But no reaction at all...is almost worse.”
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