"Who called him?" Deathstroke, who had gotten caught in the crossfire just for peeping, shook his head at Oliver's miserable state. But Green Arrow was supposed to be burdened by deep-seated bitterness. "You detected the contact signal, which is why you paid attention to Green Arrow's phone, right?"
"Yes, Sheriff. The call came from the Republic of The Gambia in Africa." Adjutant switched the feed, revealing a farmhouse on a plantation.
There was a battered public telephone there, its green casing covered in mud. Who knew how many people had grabbed it? There were also suspicious bloodstains nearby.
A man in a red vest and baseball cap was pacing around it.
"It's not time yet. Right, it should still be nighttime in the United States. I should wait until dawn before calling."
The man muttered to himself, seeming mentally unstable as he paced back and forth with a native bow tucked under his arm.
"But what should I say? Oh, hi, Oliver, it's Roy. I somehow came back to life, but I'm stuck in The Gambia now and need you to send me some travel money?"
"This garbage country doesn't even have internet. How am I supposed to prove to Green Arrow that I'm really me? Oliver is smart, but being smart means being suspicious."
"That story sounds like a street scam."
"Like saying I'm a descendant of the Franklin Family and know where the national treasure is buried, but I need some money to hire a construction crew to dig it up. Give me ten thousand US Dollars today, and I'll pay you back a million in a month!"
"That definitely won't work. Oliver won't believe it."
The former Red Arrow, or rather Arsenal, scratched his head amid the endless banana fields of the plantation, looking utterly conflicted.
Before