It isn't my birthday...
A brown paper package was just inside the door on a side table when Zoe returned home after an afternoon at the Star City library researching old newspaper archives. It bore her name and address, but no return address and no postage stamps.

Michelle wasn't home from the office yet, so she had no audience to ask her what it was or who had sent it. Suspicious nature taking over, Zoe hid it under her bed and ignored it until late that night. She carried it up to the roof and carefully opened it under the tiny beam of a penlight.

Inside she found a locked leather case. A plain white envelope contained a key on a chain. If this was Angie's idea of giving her more guns, it was too public. Zoe's condition was that none of the Suicide Squad dealings ever touch her mother or her home life. She didn't think Angela was so careless when she could have called Zoe to her office for a delivery.

All thought was gone when she opened the case and found a pair of wrist mounted guns. With the new weapons were boxes of ammo. Even in the low light, she could tell they were not an off-the-rack item. They were sized to fit her and she had an idea they would feel natural in her hands. Someone had gone to the trouble of arming her with a specially made item of the sort she wouldn't have thought to ask for, and provided ammunition to use them right away.

She'd talk to Angela about it tomorrow. Maybe.