<strong>Kid Arrow<br/>Brooklyn<br/>Early Morning</strong><br/><br/>An information leak at the NYPD revealed that a number of thugs had met with vigilante justice somewhere in Brooklyn.<br/><br/>Again, the crime fighter took to the rooftops of the island city, forgoing more reasonable methods of transportation.  But he would soon regret that decision.  New York City was like a bad pizza.  No matter how ill you became after you consumed some, you were always going to treat yourself to a slice on another day.  Kid Arrow loved to run through dilapidated buildings, run-down neighborhoods and graffiti-marked edifices;  he thought that he could feel the city whispering its likes and dislikes with each concrete crack tread underfoot.  He was fascinated by the urban decay, the lowlives, the call of the streets; the blinding lights in the night inspired him, compelled him.  But each time he came to this storied town, it took the whole of his stamina to stay on his feet.  Each intake of air brought with it the cold, polluted cloud that hovered over New York City, installing a thick layer of lead within the pink lungs of the dashing teen archer.  It was a burden to run now; the gray soot that propagated in every crevice of this dirty, crime-ridden city covered him inside and out.  It had become unbearable, and now, Cristobal was bent over with his head between his knees with his mask off, desperately seeking with each gasp traces of pure oxygen.<br/><br/>That face, half blackened by a second skin of grime, covered the bottom of his face; for an instant, he appeared like a natural species, a comanche rummaging through the bush holding a tomahawk, part of a society of men that lived in this insipid ecosystem.  But his eyes were red and teary.  The very city repulsed him physically, warning him.  Proceed no further, it said.  But his instincts had been sharpened by fearless tenacity and singular determination.  Nothing would deter him, not even his conscience.<br/><br/>His conscience.  Arrow had debated throughout his stay in New York whether or not he actually felt sympathy for Rorschach.  To the Kid, that creepy, mask-wearing lunatic was a dichotomy of opposing principles; he was judgmental, but refused to be judged; he was attuned to the small details, but never paid attention to the larger picture; he was a conservative, but disliked the Nixon administration.  Kid Arrow could not quite figure out whether Rorschach enjoyed the war with the Russians.  He didn't understand Rorschach's brand for justice, either.  Kid Arrow had convinced himself that it was not justice.  Rorschach was always Rorschach, an inhuman outsider, a misguided soul, a figure of counter-culture.  He couldn't possibly know what justice truly was, because justice was a product of society-- something Rorschach did not seem to have any desire to partake in.<br/><br/>"Murphy..." he said, his breaths ragged by the torturous quality of the air.   "... I need a car."<br/><br/>"I didn't know you were old enough to drive, Arrow," Murphy said over the radio.<br/><br/>"Fuck you."<br/><br/>A few minutes passed before he pulled his cowl back on, peeling the humid, sweaty cask over his face with a toothy grimace.    Inside his cowl, his perspective of the world was more confident; he was distinctly aware of time and space, of location and altitude, of direction and distance.  He was master of the night, for he could see in the blackest fog in detailed verdant.  It was when he was overlooking the horizon of the city that he saw a small oval-shaped flying device zipping through the buildings.<br/><br/>In an instant, he was off; a moving body, liquid and hyper, refueled by adrenaline, striding towards Archimedes.  Powerful thighs tightened and bounced with each long bound.  It felt like acid was pouring down through his arteries, his ankles aching from supporting his body.  A well-defined chest felt like it was going to cave in, and his limbs flailed uncontrollably as he attempted to make the best speed.  But he couldn't get anywhere near his personal best.  The mind was not now the master of his body.  The young man was winded, not from not being able to hack it, but because the scenario was not conducive to his methods.  By the time that he had arrived, the VTOL was two-hundred yards away and accelerating.<br/><br/>"Fuck!" he screamed.<br/><br/>Trying to get a shot off unto the vessel, he collapsed unto his knees, flipped his quiver over and searched through his arrows.  Shaking hands ran over the feathers of a number of trick shafts, but frustration at himself and the situation made finding the correct arrow impossible.  Then, he removed a small gun from his holster and carefully aimed it at the backside of the vessel, adjusting appropriately for wind, gravity, etc.; when he squeezed the trigger, a small dart attached to a thin cable hurtled towards the VTOL.  It successfully attached, but what happened then was a disaster.  The rappling mechanism that would reel him up jammed, and since the gun's handle instantly adhered to his glove as a safety measure, Kid Arrow was pulled off his feet by the flying vessel, fell off a tall building, smashed into another one and then was dragged up, over and past another building.  The only thing that the Kid could think about as his body crashed through chimneys and wires was,<em>fuck, I would be pissed off at myself if I knocked out my cable box.</em>It took a great deal of effort to remove a combat knife from his ankle-sheath, whilst being turned and battered by concrete and glass.  But the Kid managed it and sawed at the cable desperately.  He managed to cut it just as he was dropping off a third building.<br/><br/>Still cognizant, the Kid un-holstered another pistol.  The pistol's barrel whirred and spun, and two long limbs held in a small compartment emerged, connected and flexed to become a compound longbow.  He quickly knocked an arrow with a thick cylinder as the head and let it fly.  No longer was he clueless as to the location of his arrows; the busy road below inspired the teen hero with exactitude.  The arrow exploded in mid-air, and immediately thickened water particles into an icy crust.  He shot three similar arrows, creating thin bridges between the buildings.  Then, at the last possible instant, he turned his shoulder so that it might take the brunt of the impact as he crashed through the first bridge, then the second, then the third, and finally the fourth.  His fall had been slowed down considerably, and it was then that he shot another arrow up into the sky.  The arrow exploded in the apex of its flight to reveal a grappling hook, attached to a rope hooked to his bow.  Once again, he met the surface of wall with bone shattering impact, and he fell approximately 20 more feet down into an alley.  Fortunately, a pile of trash broke his final fall.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, the Kid was not going to get back up.  He lifted his head upwards, strained to lift it further, then collapsed back, blood seeping down his mouth and nose.  Before he drifted off into unconsciousness, he saw a figure in black standing on a rooftop, photographing him.<br/><br/>".. urk..?"