Onyx: Heathens & Heroes

The Prologue:

My life began normally—I grew up, as an only child, in Starling City, now renamed Star City following the death of the ever-so-famous Raymond Palmer. I had loving parents who basically gave me everything that I wanted. My father was a famous man, everyone knew him—some liked him, some didn't. He worked partially for the military, but mostly for himself. He developed weapons for the government—mostly weapon testing, however, he did work on some, less than humane, types of lab experiments. With that being said, he was on the government's good side, but not on the peace protestors'. He didn't really care about that too much, though.

My mom was a different story, I'm afraid. She was never too open with anything and she didn't show emotion either, whether that be pain or joy. Her past was dark, shady and I was never told too much about it. Anytime I brought it up as a child, a mean glare was shot in my direction, from both of my parents. Nobody seemed to want me to know what she did in her younger days, before she had me. She was a weird one—as I was growing up, she persuaded me, into taking karate. I was good at it, liked it a lot, but never particularly knew why she wanted me to take it so badly. She was hell bent on getting me in there though—taught me how to use every weapon I could learn at the young age of 10-11 years old.

Soon after, I learned why I was so good at karate and why she was so persistent on my taking it when I was little. My mother grew up in Nanda Parbat, a small city in Tibet, and a very dangerous city at that. Legend says that there's a group of people that live there, a group of deadly assassins, led by a man named Ra's al Ghul. Of course, when I was young, this name meant nothing to me. I've heard my parents speak it since I was little and every time, my mother would cringe and simply walk away from the conversation. Later on in life though, I began to gather information about them. I learned that it was an awful place and that not too many members really escaped it. I had my mother's blood in me who had League of Assassins blood in hers, given the reason why I'm so good at martial arts and hand-to-hand combat.

When I was 12 years old, she died from an unknown cause. I don't remember much of it, to be honest, but I do remember everyone crying at the funeral while I stood by the window, staring outside for the duration of it. My dad wasn't too happy about that, but like I said, I don't remember much at that age. I'll bet you're wondering how she died, but the truth is: nobody really knows, unless they kept it quiet from me. Although, a few days later, I caught the tail end of a conversation between my father and my grandmother before they realized that I was listening in on their conversation. They were talking about Nanda Parbat and I heard the name "Ra's al Ghul" for the final time in my teenage life.

Now, just a few years back, my father remarried a woman who hated me, who had a daughter that was just as obnoxious as her. The woman's name was Marla Cox and she happens to be a runway model with curly blonde hair and who made 50 look like 20. While she's off at Paris gallivanting with her daughter and my father, I'm sitting in the middle of the floor playing with knives, ignored by the only father—and family—that I had left.

Due to this, it sparked an argument between us. I attempted to explain to him how I felt about my stepmother and that we never talked, nor hung out together. She and I then got into a fight because she decided that screaming at me was the best way to get her point across. Needless to say, I shoved her against the wall when she laid her hands on me, slapping me in the face. I was then told, by both, to gather my things and go.

And I did.

I'm in the process of getting comfortable in Central City now. I've rented my own apartment in the middle of the town—it was cozy on the inside and outside. It was a little townhouse, two floors with two bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, a living room, and a dining room. It wasn't too expensive and it was a decent neighborhood. One of those bedrooms became my bedroom with a king size bed because I felt like I deserved it, while the other bedroom became a study area with just about every weapon that I own.

As for a job, however, I didn't particularly have a full time one, but I somehow managed to get a job at the police station that was down the road from me. I mean, it wasn't all fancy, but I worked as a secretary for a man there named Barry Allen. He was the forensic expert that worked there, the only one, apparently. Since I had experience with weapons, he thought I could be pretty useful.

Evidently, this guy was so busy that he needed a secretary to help him get organized. Which I was fine with because it gave me a job, but still a little weird, nonetheless. Anyway, I took it, hoping that the guy would turn out to be helpful and tolerant to my attitudes, which I had a lot of.

Normally, I'm a very private and quiet person. I've always been told that I'm a lot like my mother, which I was fine with to an extent. My father used to tell me that I was an exact replica of my mother, from my dark eyes, olive skin, and my natural brown hair to my sparkling personality. Of course, the worst part of that was also inheriting my mother's temper that had a tendency to go off at the simplest of things. I would respect anybody who had the balls to put up with me on a daily basis.

I've always wanted to better myself, become someone that I never thought I'd be. I've always wanted to something good, fall in love with the right person, and make the world a better place. I never thought, however, that leaving Star City to live in Central City would cause all of that to happen...but it did.

This is my story—well a story about a bunch of crazy people, both good and bad, using their unique characteristics to save the world and to make a few friends along the way.