Gotham Central: Deathstroke #1

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TommytheHitman

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(Just a short little series I'm gonna do so I keep posting).

If there was one city that Slade had wished he’d never see again it was Gotham.

He’d spent more than enough time in this hell hole over the past two months and every second more was merely adding to the man’s already irritable personality.

Normally when Slade was hired to end another man’s life, he preferred to get over quick fast and in a hurry. He was, after all, known as the World’s Greatest Assassin and he received dozens of contracts daily. Slade had a saying: “Tell me where the target’s name and where I can find them.” Normally that was all he’d need, and he had no time for anything personal. He really couldn’t afford to tarry when it came to the missions that he undertook, but this one was special.

Two months ago, Slade had received a call from an unlisted number. Fairly normal given the man’s profession and Slade had answered without any suspicions. At the time he’d been sipping a cocktail from his Penthouse in Malta, a rare quiet moment in the life of the man that the world knew as Deathstroke.

“Whadda ya want?” Slade had asked, his voice muffled by the cigar he was smoking.

$33 Million Dollars.” Was all the voice on the other end of the phone had initially said. “That’s what you’d normally make for two months work, correct?”

Slade frowned. He popped the cigar out of his mouth and glanced at the phone. Back in the day he’d have had his friend, Wintergreen, run a trace on the call to figure out just who Slade was talking to. But Wintergreen wasn’t around anymore. In a typically complicated fashion, Slade had killed him.

“Who do you want dead?” Slade asked. He got up from the deck chair he’d been comfortable upon and moved into the house.

Tyrus Mason.” The voice said.

“The head of SDC?”

Slade moved into the living room. He drank the last of his cocktail and left the glass on the table, clicking a button hidden under the table in the process.

“Indeed, Mister Wilson. I estimate it will take you at least two months o find a way to kill this man, and as such as I shall pay you as your Mercenary Code of Honour dictates. Correct?”

The TV overlooking the living room began to shift. It slid upward towards the ceiling revealing a hidden compartment where the device had once been. Inside the compartment were Slade’s “tools” as he often called them. A collection of swords, pistols and grenades that would have made even a Redneck feel like he was over-compensating. Along with Slade’s tools was the black and orange garments he often wore when in the field, an outfit that had often been the last thing many people had ever seen.

Slade brought the phone back up to his ear. He frowned while he agreed to the job but he agreed, nonetheless. His terms were met immediately. He would receive half of the money as soon as he took the contract and the rest upon its completion.

In his free time over the next two months Slade had tried several times to learn exactly who had hired him. Each of those times had been unsuccessful, though he had his suspects.

Now, two months later Slade stood overlooking the Gotham division of the Superhero Damages Clean-up division. It was an ugly brown building, very much in keeping with the rest of Gotham’s architecture. From his position overlooking the skyscraper Slade could understand why his client would have thought he’d need so long to do the job. The SDC was well known for its purpose of handling damages caused during the many superhuman battles that occurred every year. The company was also infamous for keeping and tinkering with the various pieces of advanced technology that was often left behind at such battles.

A quick recon of the building had revealed that SDC’s security was outfitted with gear and weapons far above your usual corporation’s defences. Weeks of deliberating and failed attempts had led Slade to realise that sneaking into the building simply wasn’t an option, even for him there were too many cameras and guards to get around. An all-out assault on the building seemed to be the only way to go.

Another issue was the fact that the SDC’s building was in Gotham. The building itself was prominent in the city’s skyline, meaning that once the fighting started all of the city was going to know about it, also meaning that the Caped Crusader and the rest of his allies that called this miserable slime pit ‘home’ would also know about it.

Batman and his friends getting involved didn’t necessarily worry Slade. He’d fought most of them before. However, the time that it took him to kill those that showed up would almost definitely give Slade’s target enough time to escape.

That’s why Slade had decided to attack during the day. Everyone knew that Batman and his cronies only operated at night.

Then there was the final problem.

Several years ago, the city of Blüdhaven -Gotham’s neighbouring city - had been destroyed in a supervillain assault. The toxic sludge giant known as Chemo had been dropped on the place by a passing plane that had, in fact been piloted by Slade himself.

He wasn’t proud. Thousands had died, and he’d been in a very different mindset back then.

Due to Blüdhaven s proximity to Gotham, SDC had been the first on the scene and as such the first to pick through all the rubble. As Slade looked through his binoculars down at the building, he found himself drawn to the large, sludge monsters wandering around the building’s perimeter, there were a fair few of them and they were what worried him the most.

It seemed when SDC had arrived at Blüdhaven they’d taken more than their fair share of the sentient sludge that Chemo was made from and used it for their own ends, constructing their own superpowered security force.

Slade had seen first-hand just how dangerous Chemo’s toxic chemicals could be. He wanted to avoid fighting them as much as possible.

“33 Million.” He muttered to himself, popping his binoculars back into the pack hanging from his shoulders. “Just think… 33 Million.” He pulled out his grapple tube – a device like a grappling gun only in the form of a tube – and fired the hook towards the SDC building.

If he was going to break into this building, there was no time like the present.

Slade shot up into the air and once he was free from the ground recalled his grappling hook. He took a deep breath and angled himself towards the SDC building’s nearest window.

Just another day in the life.

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TommytheHitman

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KrispyAllen

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Definitely nailed Deathstroke's cynicism well, good read and I look forward to more!

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cbishop

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@tommythehitman: You keep coming back to Deathstroke. I'll read this in the next few days. :)

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TommytheHitman

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