Beginnings

January 1, 1995

"Give me the child." A lean, red haired woman lay on her side behind a barred door. On the other side was a stone corridor, crisscrossed by water mains. They dripped in a melancholic rhythm, reflecting the melancholic, monotone words that rang out through the tunnel.

"No. You won't take him from me!"

"You're bringing this upon yourself, Volcana. You didn't want him before, I can't imagine anything has changed."

"He's my son!"

"Interesting that you claim him now. But I have great plans for the boy."

Flames began to roll off the woman, searing the skin of the man outside the bars. He barely blinked. "If you don't leave, I will-"

"Burn your son until he's medium well? You're unstable, unfit to care for him."

She gasped and the fires blinked out. "I refuse to let you win, Slade!"

"Volcana…" He held a finger out to catch a drop of water. "I already have," he said, brushing the cool water across the bars. "You want what's best for him. Don't you? Do you think you can care for him? Do you think that who you are will benefit the child? That he'll be safe around you? He won't. Look at him, and know that if you keep him... He will die."

Sizzling tears streaming down her face, she choked on her sobs. The fire in her bones was trying to seep out through her frustration. She could control it, she thought. Slade flicked the bars, firing the droplet of water at Volcana. It hit the back of her exposed neck, shattering her concentration like glass. Fire flicked out, illuminating the face of the baby in her arms. She screeched in fear and dropped him. Slade smirked. "I did warn you. You should have heeded my words. Now... hand over my son."

Sniffs continued to crack the thick, almost tangible silence. "W-Will he be safe?"

"He will."

Volcana slowly stood, and brought the baby to the barred door, cradling him in her arms. "Thank you, Volcana. This is what's best."

"I'll be back for him," she said, face contorted with anger. "That's my promise."

"And I don't doubt you'll fulfill it," Slade said, breaking the lock on the door with his bare hand. Alarms began to sound as the door swung open. Volcana gently placed the baby into the crook of one of Slade's arms. "That is, if you could." With his free hand, he snatched a handgun from his belt and fired. Volcana clutched her abdomen and staggered back as dark red blood seeped through her fingers. Their son began to cry at the loud noise.

"But… You made a promise..."

"My promise ensured my son's safety. Not yours." He walked away, twirling the gun on his finger while she slumped to the ground. "They were going to dissect you anyway. Consider that an anesthetic." Four heavily armed guards came jogging down the corridor, their rhythmic footfalls echoing in unison. The beat was interrupted by two loud gunshots, shattering the face plates of the front two guards. He dashed and turned his back to a body, using it as a shield. Whipping his pistol back into his belt, he slung his upper body forward, kicking the body at the guards and slipping an Uzi into his hand. Unconciously, he whirled in a way that his body protected the baby. He sprayed the remaining two guards with bullets and walked to the exit, passing a bullet-riddled sign that read, Cadmus: Project Firestorm & Son. A heavy iron door ended the corridor, and Slade took the opportunity to try fixating his mask on his face with his fingertips, still holding the Uzi. Failing, he sighed and set the baby down. With a slightly confused look on his face, he ordered the baby. "Stay."

Slade took his free hand and connected the skeletal orange mask, then bent to retrieve his son. "The breach is in there! Crimson Guard isn't responding!" Slade scooped up the baby and spun to power an immense kick to the massive door, sending it flying off its hinges. Silence follows as all the guards ready their weapons. Slade steps forward, his baby son in one hand, and a fully automatic weapon in the other. One of the soldiers cried out into his radio, "It's Deathstroke! I repeat, it's Deathstroke!"

"Don't move!" A squad captain shouted.

"You take yourself very seriously." Slade raised his Uzi and filled the captain with bullets before ducking into the corridor for cover. "Anyone else?"

"Fire!"

"I asked for it." Deathstroke vaulted high over the hail of bullets, one even grazing his boot. He landed in the ranks of guards, sliding his Promethium broadsword off his back. With a spinning slice, and no more than four swings, the rest were dismantled. He sheathed his sword, and with his gloved hand, wiped a few drops of blood off his crying baby's face. "There, there." The wailing eased. "You're alright, I'm here."

The baby quieted. "Good. Now, we have somewhere to be." And so Deathstroke left the bloody battlefield of a lab behind him, a serene child in his arms.