It was time to hunt. A good man had been murdered in cold blood. It was time for his killer or killers to learn what fear taste like, and Thomas Blake couldn't teach that lesson: but Catman could.
"Mr Blake you alright?" Smalt asked the contemplative man sitting in the backseat of the car they rode in. Smalt noticed that Blake had changed a bit since earlier in the day, he seemed to be a lot more focused. A darkness in his eyes, a dangerious air around him. Smalt had lived long enough to identify that look. The dude was pissed. But why? According to him, he barely knew Theodore Kelly. Curious.
"Oh, I'm fine, just can't believe what's happened that's all."
"You sure? Because where I'm sitting, you look pissed off."
"The man had kids Smalt. Family who will never see him again, and he was a good man. If you knew him, even for thirtteen hours, you would understand."
"The good die young."
This was Dugan.
"And the young die hard." Blake piped in after. Because that's how Ted had died.
Harder then most anyway.
"I think Ted's death was a murder, and I think the animal attack was a cover or at the very lease, an act of revenge."
"Revenge? For what?"
"Remember I told you we hit something on our way into Jubilee?"
Dugan drove on in silence for a single moment before continuing.
"You telling me some Deer, decided to get a lil pay back for the other night?'
"I never said it was a deer."
"Ok an "animal," then, is that better? Sure as hell don't sound better, or sane."
"I know. But it's all I have."
And it was all he could give, for now. But once he got home and got properly prepared, things were going to change.
God have mercy on the souls of the killers.
He would not fail another person in his life. Not again.
"We will keep you updated Mr Blake. You take care, now."
Samwell Dugan said to the large man at the hotel entrance. He was dog tired and needed to get home to his bed. He hadn't slept since 5:am that morning.
"Yeah man we got this!"
This was smalt again. Ever the enthusiastic helper. But Blake knew the reason. He was still a spring chicken. He hadn't seen what his superior had.
Blake couldn't relate.
But he wished he could. Maybe his mind wouldn't be such a cluster f--k.
Before hitting his room he stopped at the front desk to wish the day shift clerk, thanks for speaking up. Then he ordered another burger from the kitchen, got in his private elevator, and went to his suite on the eigth floor.
He didn't even turn from his door when he heard,
"Hey there Blakey. Long time no see."
The voice spoke from his bed and sent chills down his spine. Because that voice, equaled death.
And when he heard it, he knew that he was going to die.
But not easily.
With the reflexes of his namesake, Thomas Blake moved his arm up the back of his shirt, and removed three throwing daggers, he then tossed them at the person on his bed hoping to end that voice forever.
The steel of the thrown objects, glowing like stars as they reflected small embers of light that shone through the window of Blake's room.
All three missed there mark. Easily snatched outta the air by the man in Blake's room. The killer of killers himself.
Better known as Deathstroke the Terminator. A man who was said to be the pennacle of human perfection. Blake never would have bought stock into the rumors himself.
If he hadn't fought Slade before this. But the rumors were not rumors, they were facts.
Cold hard facts.
"See, that's not very nice. I come all this way to reunite and catch up, and you throw knives at me?"
Slade hadn't even left his spot on the bed when he caught the knives. All three were held casually in the palm of his right hand.
He caught them all with one hand!!
Blake was f--ked! And he knew it too.
Blake opted against weapons, as they were of no use anyway. He crouched in a fighting stance, and saw Slade smile under his mask.
"Hand to hand, Slade."
"Ok, Sylvester, I'm game."
Blake didn't hesitate to take advantage, and attacked Slade whilst he still sat down, he closed the five foot gap in minutes.
Blake was fast.
Unfortunately, Slade was faster still. Lifting his body from the bed with his arms, he drove his right leg directly into the other man's stomatch, sending Blake flying into the door to his apartment with enough force to cause it to crack and splinter.
Blake lost his lunch.
"T.. thought we...ugh.. were keeping this hand to hand?"
Blake groaned, while climbing to his feet and wiping his mouth. His gut feeling like he had been hit by a sledgehammer.
Maybe he had.
"Too slow. That's your problem Catman."
"Your enhanced you dick!!"
"Excuses. Batman ain't enhanced, bet you couldn't beat him either."
"I ...... f--k you, Wilson!"
Blake roared like a true lion and threw himself at his arrogant antagonist, dropping his shoulders in a charge, spearing the one-eyed merc.
This accomplished nothing except getting Blake a knee to the stomach.
Blake's poor, poor stomach. He would have vomited again, but fortunately, he hadn't had anything to eat except the burger.
He slide down Slades waist and ended up on his knees in front of him in a very subjective pose; before getting kicked directly in the mouth, knocking him down flat on his back, legs and arms splayed apart.
As he lay there, he could see Slade remove something from a pouch on his right hip, and prepared for the end.
There was a flash. But no boom. The sound Blake heard was the whirring sound of..
.."A f--king camera?!"
Blake sat up abit. Every muscle aching all to be damned, and the man above him was snapping photos.
Classic Catman luck. Even outta costume, he was made a joke of.
"What, the hell are you doing?"
Slade snapped another photo before nodding his head, and placing the small digital camera back into it's place on his hip, then answered,
"Taking pictures, dumbass, what does it look like?"
"Why are you taking photos?"
"For my instagram. Consider this pay back for that trouble you and the six caused, and for that job in Botswana you blew for me. I was out two million bucks."
Blake couldn't believe it. He had found the deadliest killer of them all in his place, but instead of facing death, he faced ridicule via blogs, and chat rooms.
He didn't know if he was suppose to be happy he was alive, or pissed that he got rolled like a white kid by a bully in an after school special.
So he kept it even.
"What? You didn't think I came to kill ya did you? Honestly Catman, you know me better then that. If I wanted you dead, do you think you woulda been able to throw those knives?"
No. He wouldn't have. If Deathstroke wants you dead, your dead. And you won't know until you see the gates of Hell.
"Right. You wouldn't it. Anyway we're done here, I'll be sure to keep you posted, on keeping you posted."
Slade said, while walking towards the window to Blake's balcony.
Oh, and Catman."
Slade turned and Said,
"You might want to beef up your security. If I found you this easily, then others can as well, and we both know, I'm not the only person you pissed off. Just one to grow on."
And with that, Slade was gone back out the window from whence he came.
The woman in the Van parked to the east of the building, watched as Deathstroke decended from the eigth floor, landing cat-like on the ground below. Dissapearing like he hadn't been there at all.
"Blue Dawn, this is Green Guild, we have found the location of the Catman, your orders?"
The voice on the other end of the microphone the woman held replied,
"You know my orders. Observe, but do not engage."
"Are we clear?"
"Good. Make sure that we are. Blue Dawn out."
The woman in the van fumed but remained compliant.
However much it angered.
"Don't seem to happy with our orders Cheshire. You really hate this guy dont'cha?'
Cheshire placed the walkee-talkee down between her and her partner, then turned and replied,
"Oh, Sportsmaster don't be silly. Why would I hate him? He is my husband after all."