Issue 18:
Mr. Wilson
Deathstoke watched the meeting wrap up at Penguin's warehouse. Patches of people still spotted the floor as they talked among one another. In Slade's mind he saw them turn towards him powers bared. It looked like a dance but in his head it was a check list. 1) Shoot here 2) Close distance 3) Dodge energy bolts 4) Behead her and him 5) Flip over that one using him as a shield and on and on. Lately his thoughts grew fewer and fewer yet he unconsciously realized every man, woman, and child put before him was a wasted life.
"Mr. Wilson?" a young woman called approaching from the stage. She wore a thick, black jacket and dark jeans. Her bright red dyed hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Slade noticed tattoos running up her neck to her hairline. Stopping in front of him she held an envelope in both hands.
"My name is Ariadne Pixnit but everyone calls me Pix. Penguin gave me an urgent mission after the meeting but when I opened the parameters the paper just read 'Slade. Nst.' So I didn't know what to do," she explained while Slade eyed her up and down.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"Nineteen. What about you?" she responded.
"Eighty four," Slade grunted, "I expect it's too much to ask if you've seen any combat."
"I've- I've killed men," she answered like it pained her.
"That's not what I asked."
"Oh um, I guess not then." Slade shook his head at that answer. Everyone started somewhere but there was such a thing as too fresh. This girl was the definition of it. Dragging her along with him would be as effective as carrying a paper umbrella into a hurricane.
"This won't work, girl. Go back to Oswald and tell him to send me someone with some rougher edges."
"No I can't! That is I promised them I could do it. I really want to help," Pix insisted.
"I don't know how you can do that. Why did they assign you to me anyway?" Slade pressed. Without a word Pix's eyes swirled with an inky substance until her whole eyeballs turned black. Somewhere inside his body armor he heard a clicking noise.
The shock applicators on the palms of his gloves crackled to life. To his surprise the live current turned on him and he felt hot voltage running up his arms and down his spine. Slade fell to his knees as his muscles spasmed uncontrollably even so his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Pix relented as quickly as she began and her eyes returned to normal.
"Don't ever do that again," Slade warned momentarily out of breath.
"Why? Because it hurt?"
"No because I might kill you next time before I have a chance to think about it."
"Oh." Suddenly Pix didn't feel so smug. Slade stood and removed his mask revealing the weathered face of an old man with an eye patch.
"So who'd you piss off? Robin? Calculator?" Slade asked.
"I don't understand."
"This mission. People don't line up around the block to work with me."
"I volunteered. I was hoping you'd- actually never mind."
"Fine," Slade agreed and wrote two addresses on a scrap of paper, "Go here first. At the second address ask for Chuckie. He'll know what to do."
"What's this for?"
"Your first lesson, call it Intro to Deathstroke 101."
"Are you making a joke?" she asked though there wasn't the slightest bit of humor on his face.
"Not at all," he said and though Pix didn't know him she knew he meant it.
A few hours later Ariadne arrived at the first address, a well-manicured townhome on the better side of the city. Not yet twenty Ariadne already lived an eventful life. Like so many others she ran away from home in her teens from a bad situation. Sleeping on friend's couches she excelled at art which due to a slimy ex-boyfriend transitioned into amateur tattoo work. Unlike her friends she attended high school classes every day until graduation. Her favorites besides art were the advanced math and science courses.
At eighteen she began sneaking into engineering and biomechanical classes at Gotham University despite paying no tuition. Her tattoo work began growing through word of mouth. One day a professor named Cosmo Krank stopped her after class. An entrepreneur who taught a class for fun Mr. Krank was a stellar engineer and unbeknownst to Ariadne operated under the criminal moniker Toymaker. Mr. Krank suggested he knew her secret but instead of kicking her out he offered her a job in his own one man company. Unquestionably interested in mechanics she accepted and began work in his well-funded laboratory.
One night on the way home from Cosmo's as she came to call him Ariadne was viciously attacked. A crew of five men from a local street gang cornered her on a quiet street and dragged her into a secluded alley. They took turns raping her then left her nearly naked and broken for the police to eventually find. The cops gave her little remedy and the experience damaged Ariadne's life to the point where she leaned towards agoraphobia.
Unsatisfied with inaction she spent late nights in Cosmo's lab where she developed nanomachines that could live and be controlled in her tattoo ink. When it was viable and ready she applied to a local tattoo parlor that specialized in gang inkings. One by one her rapists came to her and not a single one recognized her. Ariadne marked them with guns, blades, snakes, and other deadly images in her special ink.
Quite poetically these men died by their own ink when she manually took control of their tattoos. Surprisingly she felt little satisfaction or safety after their murders so she began to work on herself. Slowly the blank canvas of her body formed into an arsenal of weaponized designs under her expert hand. Still it wasn't enough and foolishly she went so far as to ingest the cybernetic ink creating a mental wireless link between her and any nearby electronics.
Now the young lady climbed the steps of her first address on Slade's list. Ominously the doorbell called two deep bongs through the soundless house. A few moments passed before a handsome, thirty something man opened the door wearing a white silk robe and nothing else. He spoke to her through the glass door that remained closed.
"Fuck you want?" he slurred angrily.
"Um, I was given this address by Slade Wilson?" Pix explained. Begrudgingly the man pulled his robe shut and unlocked the glass door opening it for her. For a long moment Pix paused at this strange scene before she sighed and stepped inside the foyer. In the gaudy living room towards the back Pix first uncomfortably noticed the hardcore pornography blaring through a sound system while projected against a white wall. On the table in front of her an arrangement of guns was carefully spread in an order she couldn't discern.
"Are you with the Militia too? I still don't know many people yet," Pix asked.
"Yeah, name's Caldwell. Go by Wrath," Caldwell mumbled pouring himself another glass of some dark alcohol.
"Oh you were named weapons master at the warehouse. I heard people talking about you setting up an outfitter there. How come Slade didn't just wait and go there?"
"Mr. Wilson don't wait, darling. 'An he sure as shit don't go through the same channels as everybody else." On the screen behind Caldwell a young, nervous brunette with fake balloon like breasts serviced two hairy middle aged men. Their loud moans rivalled the conversation in which Pix and Caldwell participated.
"Did he order something from you?" Pix asked trying to spur the encounter to its end as quickly as possible.
"Not particularly, just his pull list."
"What's a pull list?"
"He's got his favorite brands and calibers. Every month if something new is released I pull them aside for him." Caldwell continued rattling off makes and specs of weapons and accessories but all Pix could hear were the sloppy moans and slurping noises from the video behind him. Every now and then his member would sway in and out of the slit on his loosely bound robe. Finally he finished bagging Slade's shipment and approached her around the table.
"What about you, baby doll? You like to party? I got some coke in the bedroom if you wanna hang out for a bit," Caldwell cooed and Pix felt her stomach turn. Though her anxiety spiked she managed to laugh rudely in his face as she grabbed the bag.
"With you? Not in a million years," she snorted but Caldwell tightly grabbed her arm that held the bag.
"How 'bout you tell me the fuck that's supposed to mean?" he growled. Fear rose up in her throat but with it came anger and an undeniable certitude to never let anything bad happen to her again.
"It means mine is bigger than yours, Caldwell," she replied and a chittering could be heard around her feet. Pix's jean leg shifted around her calf moving down to her ankle. Out of the cuff crawled an all-black scorpion that skittered across her shoe and grew swiftly as it reached Caldwell's foot. The man shuffled back into the table watching the scorpion grow to the size of a large breed of dog. Its mandibles clacked together as black drool rolled from its mouth.
"What the fuck is that?" Caldwell cried helplessly.
"Oh that's just Mr. Snippy. He doesn't like it when people get rough with women, so here's what's going to happen. I'm going to walk out of here and if I hear any and I mean ANY women around town complain about you I'll come back. Then Mr. Snippy can give you a real hand job," Pix threatened while the scorpion reached up with a humungous claw and sheared the belt of Caldwell's robe in two effortlessly.
"Jesus Christ, ok, ok," he begged pathetically. Mr. Snippy liquefied and retracted under her pants leg again.
"And turn the porn off when you have visitors, you disgusting pig," she called from the door as she left. Pix moved on to her next destination while Caldwell stayed in and attempted to drink away any castrative nightmares.
After that travesty Pix drove across town with a trunk full of guns promising herself she'd quit immediately if Slade sent her to another creep. Curiously the address led her to the Lee Fashion Megamall, more specifically the Squawking Duck Arcade next to an herbal tea store. From the walkway outside she could see flashing lights and hear buzzers, sirens, and screaming kids. Pix walked up to the counter where a tall portly man streamed a movie on his phone chuckling lightly.
"Can I help you, miss?" the man asked politely.
"I'm looking for someone named Chuckie?" she asked.
"You got him."
"I got this address from Slade Wilson. I'm going to be working with him and he sent me here for some reason. Do you have…bombs or something for him?" Pix suggested as Chuckie guffawed at the innocent question. Instead of weapons Chuckie set a large cup full of quarters before her and proceeded to show her around the arcade. On various machines she noticed top score lists and almost everyone showed the same initials MWN. When she asked Chuckie informed her they were indeed high scores by their mutual friend, Mr. Wilson.
"Wow, is there a game he's not the best at?" Pix asked sardonically. Immediately Chuckie pointed to a large machine blasting music where kids stomped rhythmically and twirled.
"Yep, Mr. Wilson don't dance," he explained. Eventually Chuckie ran the kids off and set her up on Death Simulator 7, a two person shooter with plastic pistols. This was Mr. Wilson's favorite game Chuckie explained and occasionally he'd send a person who was going to work with him here to play it too. He played along with her for a while giving her tips on how to utilize cover. Soon his duties drew him back to the counter and Pix took over dual wielding guns as she blasted terrorists while saving innocent hostages.
At one point Chuckie brought over the house special, a Slurpy half red and half blue. She wasn't surprised to hear they named it a Mr. Wilson. For hours she played with blood splashing the screen and men howling. Some kids approached here and there to tell her she sucked or to relay stories of Mr. Wilson though none ever spoke to the one eyed man. Often they gathered to watch his brutal display of dismemberment and death but only discussed it with each other. Time flew until Pix ran out of quarters defending the nonexistent country from an ever respawning enemy.
"Well I think I'm done now. Thanks Chuckie, I had fun," she stated appreciatively.
"You're very welcome. Tell Mr. Wilson to come back and visit us soon."
"I will. I appreciate the training. I bet I could hit a fly from forty yards now," she bragged.
"Not with no real gun, miss. In fact I doubt Mr. Wilson will even give you a gun when you're working with him. No need for it. Besides you don't train someone how to shoot on a video game. I hope you didn't think that's what this was about," Chuckie apologized. Pix stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Then-then why?" she murmured.
"Well I don't want to speak out of turn, miss. What I know about Mr. Wilson's business is I don't want to know about his business. Judging by the look in his eye when those high scores go up that business is violence of a most serious sort. Course I never asked but I always imagined he sends a person here once in a long while to give them a look into his world. Now it could also be to ease you into it."
"Ease me into what?"
"The blood, the bullets, the severed limbs…death, really. Some find it easier to handle when it's just a game, but I imagine that's what it's like in Mr. Wilson's world," Chuckie admitted, "You seem like a sweet girl. You be careful out there." Pix thanked him again and left with a completely different perspective on her experience. When she called the number on the to-do list Slade ordered her to meet back at the warehouse the next day and that was all he said.
"You gotta get lower on that strike, Flamingo! Otherwise you got no room to gain momentum from your body and you're going to do nothing by tickle his chin!" Slade screamed across the floor of the warehouse the next morning. Less than a dozen fighters sparred in a cordoned off area from the heavy construction going on near the other end.
Pix saw scientists and technical wizards setting up stands for their contributions to the cause. Somewhere in the middle of it all she noticed the creep Caldwell supervising a massive tent being raised. On the fighter's side Bane singlehandedly lifted giant pylons forming an octagon cage that could suppress the powers of those inside so a random firebolt wouldn't incinerate the onlookers.
Currently Slade taught the first lesson in a class on nonlethal takedowns the students named Wanted: Alive. Most had been selected by the generals of the Militia due to their specific missions. Pix recognized a familiar face in the hustle, Dr. Grace Balin. A geneticist Grace was paralyzed some time ago until she experimented with whale DNA or something to cure her disability. Pix never really understood the details but somehow Grace succeeded only to gain the ability to turn into an orca-human hybrid at will.
She gained incredible strength, agility, and swimming capabilities only to be mocked at her code name, Orca. Even before her change Grace was a heavy set woman. However today she set her detractors and male counterparts to shame as she nailed every challenge and technique Slade threw her way.
Although Pix felt great pride at her friend's success she couldn't stay focused on the fights instead continually gazing over at the lights of the scientific gathering. On the other side the warehouse shone like barkers' row at the state fair. Class began wrapping up and Grace approached the wall where Pix sat waiting. The large woman toweled off her ruddy face and damp hair smiling at Pix.
"Hey Grace, you were amazing out there!" she happily congratulated her friend.
"Oh thanks, Pix. I did okay. Slade really knows how to operate. Did I hear you're working with him?" Grace asked eagerly. A frown crossed Pix's face.
"I guess so," she looked away and changed the subject, "How's Zora doing?"
"Oh she's fine!" Grace went on for a while about her cat Zora and showed her some pictures until a mousy looking man nervously approached.
"Hey G-Grace," he softly interrupted.
"Hi Otis, good work out there today!" Grace replied, "I was happy to see you got selected for the class after that crazy meeting yesterday."
"Yeah thanks," he said fidgeting, "Listen I-"
"Otis Flanagan, report!" Slade called from across the floor. Instantly Otis scurried off towards their instructor, so Pix and Grace continued their conversation.
"Yes sir," Otis answered when he reached his mentor.
"What are you doing in my class? I got no recommendation of you as a student from anyone."
"I'm sorry, sir. I wanted to learn how to fight," Otis explained.
"You can't, kid. You're quick but you're weak. You'll never fight like the heavy hitters. Now I know what you thought. You threw yourself at Lady Shiva last night and lived, so you think you can run with the rest of them. Here's the problem; you didn't fight her but what you did do is inspire the rest.
That's a lot more important than fighting. Everybody in this town thinks power is the only way to get things done, but the secret is power only maintains power no matter the illusion of change. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Slade asked without pretense.
"Not exactly, sir," Otis admitted honestly.
"Okay, imagine you have the strongest person in the world fighting against someone else who wants to prove they're the strongest. One of two things happens, either the current champion wins or they're dethroned, but no matter which way it goes someone is still the strongest. The structure and hierarchy never changes.
Whether we're talking about politics, religion, or government structure nothing truly changes. The strong, the wealthy, the beautiful, they'll always run things. We need people to see things from outside that viewpoint and find a different way."
"I think I kind of understand, sir. But how?" Otis wondered.
"Hell if I know but you need to try. Try to find something else that works besides what we've got. I'm just a brainless soldier and the last thing the world needs is another one of me. If you try to do that I'll train you to defend yourself," Slade offered and Otis lit up.
"Really? You'd do that?"
"Sure, be here twenty minutes early tomorrow. You need a lot more work than some around here." Slade turned toward Pix while Otis scampered off before he could change his mind. Pix sat alone again after Grace headed out for the day.
"Did you get the assignments done?" Slade asked.
"Yeah, don't make me go back to Caldwell's though. That guy's a total freak show. There's things you don't know about me and-"
I know all about your life, Ariadne. I know what those gang bangers did to you. Calculator sent me your file before the meeting ever started," Slade interrupted dismissing her concerns.
"And you sent me to him? Knowing what he was like with women?" she demanded testily.
"Well you're here, aren't you? I guess he didn't take his pound of flesh. Besides you brought me to a knee. What do you think you have to fear from a scumbag like Caldwell?" Slade retorted.
"I still think it was a shitty thing to do. I thought I had an idea of the type of person you are," Pix boldly stated.
"Who gives a fuck what you think? I'm here to work not be your best friend and as far as knowing me, who I am? Pray every night you fall asleep you don't come to know who I am. That's not something you ever want to happen. Now let's get to it," Slade cut to the bone and that was that.
The following weeks passed in training. Calculator sent her an SECURE hardware recovered in the field and Pix worked with the engineering division at breaking it. Most days went by at Slade's class she joined at his insistence. Constantly she felt physically drained but still managed to enjoy her assignment with the tech division. One particular afternoon Slade held her over to spar in the cage until they were the only two left on the floor. It was this afternoon things got particularly out of control.
"I had a dream last night," Slade stated as they tested each other around the cage, "I was on a plane, a big one with lots of people flying coach by the look of it. We were on our descent and I could see out the windows on both sides.
In those final breathless seconds before the wheels met the earth I watched the ground splinter and crack away on both sides of the runway. All that was left was the land ahead. We touched down on an empty world that wasn't good for anyone." Easily he dodged a strike and swept her legs out from under her.
"Sounds like you're crazy," Pix replied from the ground. Slade helped her up and they went another round until he promptly put her down again.
"No! Your elbow is always too high with that attack. I've told you a thousand times!" Slade growled over her, "I can't teach you if you won't listen."
"I'm trying. I just always forget that one," she protested.
"It's not enough. You're weak. That's what you're always going to be. You've already made up your mind. Pack it up. We're done for today maybe forever," he proclaimed turning his back to her.
"No!" Pix righted herself and attacked with fury, "I'll never be weak again!" Unaffected Slade took blow after blow until he slammed her brutally into the mat.
"That's all you are, some pathetic girl who got raped once. Look around!" Slade held his arms up and turned in a circle, "Nobody gives a fuck. This world is how it is from the best to the worst of us. It doesn't care, and there's nothing you can do to change it, to change people! All your hate and fear and feelings don't mean shit at the end of the day. One day you'll be dust like everything that came before you." Tears ran from Pix's face and the ink scorpion swelled from her ankle. It grew before Slade chittering angrily.
"This is your monster?" Slade asked amused. Faster than she had ever seen he snatched the creature by the base of its claws dodging its venomous tail. With one foot against its ugly face he tore both claws from its arms.
"You've never seen a real monster!" he promised her. On Pix's left shoulder a tattoo of a large black hive began buzzing. Ebony hornets shot out in multiple swarms covering Slade with deep stings from every direction. Futilely he beat the air around him.
"I see what you are, just another pissed off old man who wishes he could go back because nothing is good enough anymore. All the luxury and money and respect in the world and nothing is worth the lives that you took. Now you're buried under them," Pix accused as she stood before him.
"Stop this!" he bellowed as he lurched toward her through the shadowy swarm. Silently the barbed wire tattoos around her wrists stretched down through his fists like whips. Pix lashed out and bound his hands together with one. The other bit deeply into his neck and she swung him against the cage wall.
"Face it!" she screamed, "Look at yourself and see the soulless husk of a man that's left. A man that can't believe anybody could change the world who wasn't the goddamn Deathstroke!" Pix continued to shed tears though she wasn't even sure who they were for at this point. Him? Her? The people they killed? The hornet swarm continued to tear over him mercilessly.
"Stop! Stop or I'll kill you!" Slade ordered but it sounded more like a plea. She didn't know it at the time but it was a plea. Already he could feel his consciousness receding like he was blacking out. The inky venom from the bugs tore into his nervous system as she twisted it inside to cause him the most pain possible.
His own body responded in turn as his immune system amped up to fight the poison coursing through him. When he could take no more any illusion of control vanished and Slade shot forward tackling her to the ground with unmitigated murder in his eyes. The moment his hands wrapped around her neck however Slade felt himself snap back. He came back enough to resist the instinctual demand to snap her neck then and there as he stared into her scared, innocent face.
"Kill, kill," he droned at her horrified visage while they lay nose to nose, "don't." Slade forced his hands to release and rolled off her while she gasped for air.
"Don't," was all Slade could manage as his heart raced in his chest and he beat the demon back. He groaned it over and over until Pix gained enough breath to stumble from the cage and head for the exit.
"Don't be me," Slade finally finished but she couldn't hear him. They never sparred or spoke of the incident again.
A few days later Mad Hatter's list arrived for the Militia. A bevy of targets and agents to monitor finally secured them an assignment. After a consultation with the generals Robin chose the biggest, most suspect facility he could find on the list. For another week they did nothing but passes of the known entrances which weren't many. Pix's bruises faded quickly but the two of them spoke little to each other.
Instead she began to read his body language and decipher what he expected next. It seemed to annoy Slade but he never commented on it. Some issues arose due to the fact that the facility laid seventy feet underneath Gotham Stadium. One night Pix managed to slip a hornet through a ventilation shaft and got scans on the entire layout which was impressive by all accounts.
The facility consisted of three huge rooms conjoined with long hallways. Two they identified as a storage area and a factory but the third room couldn't be pinned down. Of course Slade suggested destroying the entire place but Robin forbade it. Better to leave one to get them all he claimed and the others tended to agree. The pair decided to access the factory portion since the control center seemed to be there allowing Pix access to their security systems.
Finally after what seemed like years Slade decreed they were ready. He geared up selecting his favorites from a collection of more guns and blades than Pix had ever seen. She carried a simple USB drive containing Calculator's malicious software and an earpiece communicator. On their way to the stadium Pix wondered how many other teams currently snuck through the night facing insurmountable odds and every one of them was lacking a Deathstroke.
No matter how much she didn't understand him or how much of an asshole he was in real life Deathstroke deserved every bit of legend heaped upon him. The irresistible draw that kept her with him was the occasional, unintentional glimpse of a human being trapped somewhere between that mask and deadly muscle. Idly she wondered who he was before the unstoppable monster though she recognized she could never truly know.
"So how would you have gotten in here without me?" she asked as they rode the freight elevator down to the SECURE factory. Pix served as a walking, talking jamming device so surveillance, audio or visual, didn't concern them at the moment. She easily coaxed the elevator into giving them a free ride down with any security clearance.
"I'd have figured it out, killed some guy for the codes or threaten one to take me down," Slade grumbled.
"You don't know the meaning of the word discretion, do you Mr. Wilson?" she asked with a laugh.
"I know discretion gets you shot in the back. I prefer getting shot in the front."
"I prefer not getting shot at all," Pix commented suddenly not laughing anymore. When the door opened he slipped out and she closed it with her mental link to the machine locking it down for the moment. After a short wait she heard two quick knocks in succession so she opened it to find Slade waiting for her.
"It's clear to the control room," he declared motioning her out of the elevator. They slipped through a room the size of a large machine shed with a proportional ceiling. Inside it held robots and assembly lines working on what appeared to be weapons.
"First time in a weapons factory? They all look the same after a while," Slade commented but Pix had no response. In the control room two dead men rested by the corner in a pile. She stared at them sadly until Slade ordered her to work. Quickly she removed a vial with an applicator that looked like lip gloss on the liquid inside was black.
Pix expertly lined her lips with the ink, leaned forward, and planted a kiss on the monitor. The ink left an outline of her pouty lips on the screen that froze for a moment and blinked repeatedly. Then she was in so Pix began by unlocking every door in the place. Then she removed the USB drive and shoved it into a port on the console.
"Around five minutes until the bug is planted. Ready for storage?" she asked Slade who watched out the door. Their next step was to recon the storage room in an attempt to discover exactly what SECURE was keeping out of sight. The long hallway consisted of two open doors on the ends and one that remained closed in the middle.
When they reached the closed door she silently indicated to him four men gathered on the other side talking. Pix could see them through their own security cameras. When Slade gave her the ready sign she raised the door. Running at full speed he slid under when it was nearly a foot off the ground. By the time it reached two feet off the ground all four men were dead.
"What is this?" Pix asked as they hurried into the long empty room. She saw names and handles set into the long walls painted white to give an atmosphere of sterility.
"It's not storage that's for sure. It's a morgue," Slade said as they moved down the walkway. Countless recognizable names of villains appeared from not only Gotham but cities across the world. Heroes began popping up scattered amid their enemies.
Everything cleared for Slade and though Gotham feared a culling he recognized it had already happened. SECURE won the war before it even began. Despite it all Slade took the images required and they returned to the control room. Pix remained speechless through it all.
"I need to check out that third area," Slade began but she cut him off anxious to escape now.
"It's a training area for recruits. I can see it now. There's lots of them there," she mumbled.
"Is that other hallway clear?"
"Yes."
"Stay here and dig around on their computers while I get in and record some footage. I won't be long," Slade ordered. Like a shadow he slipped down the hall and through the open door at the other end. Some crates gave him cover while he watched close to one hundred men and women performing exercises.
A large group sparred on mats like the Militia used back at the warehouse while those in the back corner held target practice. Subtly Slade managed to grab pictures of the layout of their training ground and new agents in training. Back in the control room Pix removed the hard drive initializing Calculator's virus and began scanning files on those resting in the morgue.
With her cybernetic ink she saw SECURE's entire network laid out before her. Curiously she spotted a timer linked throughout the system. The timer read less than a minute to zero. At this moment Slade left his cover to slip back down the hall undisturbed as Pix opened the file linked to the ticking timer. Immediately the door dropped in front of him and everywhere else across the facility. Alarms blared requesting security detail to the factory area.
"Pix, I'm locked out. I need you to open this door now!" he barked into his comm. Behind him he felt a tidal wave of eyes and heard guns sliding and loading. A chorus of clicks sounded as safeties all flipped to off.
"Just hang on," Pix replied but before she overrode the locks she noticed the program she opened called Rat's Nest. It was a live feed from many different camera angles that showed what seemed to be the outside of Penguin's warehouse. She realized she was looking at another culling that would occur in twenty seconds before secure breached their home base.
Desperate to stop them she turned off reception to her com where Slade screamed angrily in her ear. Through head mounted cameras she watched SECURE troops knock out power and switch to thermal vision preparing to breach the Militia's base at all exits. Utilizing Calculator's new back door and her own ability to see digital operations she reached in to take control of the mobile command center connected to the ambush. The soldiers broke into every entrance ready to wipe out their remaining resistance.
Before the first shot rang out Pix crashed all electrical systems in their helmets plunging the troops into complete darkness. She also activated their flashlights and emergency signals embedded in their armor to blink repeatedly. By the time someone rebooted their systems, their cameras showed the soldiers were targeted by a platoon of now armed villains.
Unwilling to allow them any time to recover the Militia opened fire tearing through the ranks of SECURE teams. Pix's delay gave them just enough time to defend themselves. Through the audio she heard screams as the enemy burned or was blown to bits. Again and again she felt she died as the cameras went out one by one. Despite SERCURE being the bad guys she didn't feel a sense of accomplishment or satisfaction.
It felt like murder behind that point of view. It felt like people unnecessarily suffering and dying. Maybe then she understood something fundamental about war and Mr. Wilson himself. Outside the basic standpoint of self-preservation she could see the nonsensical nature of the beast. Nothing was ever gained by war only lost. To live a life like that fighting to survive all the time wouldn't be a life at all. Suddenly the idea of peace as a commodity seemed more valuable to her than anything she ever thought she loved.
"Slade!" she finally remembered and bolted out of the control room. Through the factory she sprinted and raised the door blocking the hallway with a glance. Down the hallway she rushed without concern for herself or the danger that could lie beyond that final door. Pix drew her barbed wire whips as the entrance to the training ground cracked open. With a gasp the black whips disappeared in her hands when she saw the horror show in the enormous room.
Staring off down the hallway behind her Mr. Wilson kneeled before the door covered by blood in all his bullet ridden glory. Although his masked face betrayed no emotion Pix saw his arms and body shaking like he was cold. Behind him she saw bodies everywhere. Many were shot and the rest cut to ribbons.
The blood ran down the walls and pooled over the floor. The pools connected into lakes of blood that shined innocently against the harsh lighting. Limbs of men and women scattered the floor as well as a few wide eyed heads. Pix felt sick, lightheaded, and most of all responsible. Slade grabbed her forearm and pulled her close to him.
"I didn't want-" he began but his voice caught in his throat, "You didn't open the door. I-I-"
"Oh Slade, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she sobbed as she helped him to his feet.
"What happened to you?" he mumbled as they moved back to the factory.
"It doesn't matter. I'll tell you later. All you need to know is we're compromised. We need to leave like now."
"No, I'm not done yet. They won't let me die. I won't let me die," Slade mumbled.
"I don't understand. You're not making sense," she begged.
"You need to go now, but first I need you to open morgue doors seventy one through seventy six."
"What? Why?" Pix asked.
"Can you do it?" he demanded. Effortlessly she reached out to the control room as they approached and unlocked the drawers for him.
"It's done."
"Good, now get out the way we came and get somewhere safe until I call you," Slade ordered.
"I can't leave you like this," Pix protested but he pushed her away and stumbled on through the factory.
"Go Pix. Go right now," Slade demanded again. Finally she ran off toward the elevator. Already Slade felt his body healing from countless wounds. Soon he reached the morgue and found the correct lockers. At drawer seventy one a white placard over the handle read Grayson, D. (Nightwing). Slowly Slade slid it out revealing the preserved body of a powerful enemy. The original Robin, current Nightwing, and all around golden boy of the heroes, Dick Grayson lay dead and at peace.
Countless times he remembered facing the young man when he led the Teen Titans. Grayson proved a more than formidable opponent along with his team despite their lack of years. Continually he outsmarted the competition and managed to stay alive against all odds. Now he stared into his fair face taken so early like his own sons while Slade lingered on growing uglier and less satisfied. If life was fair Slade realized he never would have thrown a punch in his entire life. Then what would he have been?
Gently Slade opened the young man's mouth and removed a knife from his belt. Slicing his own wrist open he let the blood drip through Grayson's open lips. Slade decided it was time to give this curse a real challenge. After a few moments Grayson's body shuddered and he took a breath of air, then another and another. The formerly dead man on the slab opened his eyes into the one eyed mask of Deathstroke and spoke one word.
"Father." So Slade moved on to the next corpse.
Alone Slade rode the elevator out of the facility sometime later. Surprisingly he met no resistance outside the elevator but he didn't know SECURE was reeling after a failed offensive on the warehouse and multiple excursions elsewhere. Despite all the mystery and double dealings Slade understood SECURE's overall plan from a tactical standpoint.
First take the heroes out of the equation. It wouldn't win hearts or minds for the public to see them going head to head with the Justice League. That's what villains did. Once they were gone SECURE clandestinely plucked the villains they found useful from the populace. Then the production stage went into action. The factory he just exited along with many others would replicate the powers and weapons of the terminated targets.
SECURE's army would then be equipped with those weapons to fight the remaining metahumans and super geniuses. Next they announced their authority from the federal government to corral the stampede of villains they instigated. Every media outlet and news agency would spin their twenty four hour news cycle to cover their valiant war against the bad guys. In America like so many other countries there was no weapon sharper or quicker to strike than public opinion.
This in turn laid the groundwork for SECURE to expand and control other cities as well. Regular citizens would damn near demand it. However global takeover seemed a little too simplistic for the hand that held the majority of cards. By all accounts they discovered no evidence Batman was dead. In fact everything they learned seemed to argue against it.
SECURE lit the world on fire for the soul of one man and though they held him under their control they gave no indication things were completed. Their actions again suggested the opposite. They appeared to be building towards something around the bend. What that was Slade still couldn't guess, but now he set his own trap, a kind of insurance against the status quo he called a life.
"Good evening, Mr. Wilson," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Slade walked through the empty endless parking lot of the stadium until he approached a single car sitting alone under a towering light fixture. On the car sat a small man who wore loose fitting cotton pants and nothing else. Even his feet were bare. Slade stopped and rested against the hood of the car with him.
"They should have sent an army," he commented to the raven haired man.
"They did," the man answered and Slade chuckled.
"I knew you'd say that," he said. The man sitting next to him was Constantine Drakon quite possibly the greatest martial artist in the world. Drakon and Slade worked together in the past hunting Green Arrow. He was one of the few people Slade could speak to as an equal and one of a group even fewer Slade might call friend.
Curiously Drakon suffered no tragedy in his life that led him to become an assassin. In fact the only disadvantage he ever faced was growing up a small child. After killing his first man at the age of ten he wisely realized where his talents laid and trained for an extremely lucrative career in murder. He excelled in that career.
"So it was money got you?" Slade speculated.
"That and the whole not dying bit. I'll tell you these people…it's like they're fighting some blessed holy war. Gotham and the world might have seen hard times before but it's nothing to what these people planned. Win or lose it won't go back to the way it was ever," Drakon warned.
"I saw the bodies," Slade agreed and without another word they knew the time had come. They rose and faced each other across the painted lines. It has been suggested that swordsmen of old particularly could fight a duel in their heads before ever drawing a sword. The true masters could see an entire fight beforehand moves ahead like the grand chess masters. This occurred while Drakon and Slade stared at each other across the vast pavement. After a few moments Slade looked away.
"It's over. You can't win," he declared.
"That can't be!" Drakon denied, "I'm better than you. I always have been."
Maybe you used to be, but I'm…different now. You aren't anymore and never will be again." Slade walked past him continuing his slow escape from the stadium.
"Where are you going? We have to have a brutal, drag out fight. It can't end like this," Drakon demanded.
"I'm not going to fight you. Just leave, run away somewhere. I don't care anymore," Slade answered as his friend followed, "I don't want to kill you, Drakon."
"Kill me? You think-" Drakon stopped midway through his statement and in his arrogance struck at Slade aiming for the back of his neck. With his back to his enemy Slade fluidly drew his sword and in one motion extended it backwards at an ascending angle. The blade met Drakon's momentum and pierced his neck just under his Adam's apple. Colliding forces sent the point directly through Drakon's spinal column and out through the back of his neck. As Slade pulled the sword out Drakon crumpled to the ground dead before he reached it.
Like so many enemies, friends, lovers, and family Constantine Drakon fell another victim at his heels. With a heart that only had room for regret and without a single glance back, Mr. Wilson just kept going.