Hi Guys, Dresner Again, Once again I bring you a new story. Now this story is set after 'The Devils Name is Arkham: Part 2' so there will be references to Part 1 and 2 in this story, Especially since Batman and Harley are together in this. Now this story isn't going to be centered on them, but there will be a lot of references to them.

This story is set before the events of Batman:Arkham Knight. This seems to be the first since Arkham Knight isn't out yet. Now all the stuff that will be written about in this story regarding Arkham Knight is just complete works of fiction on my part and I have no contacts or anything in Rocksteady. I'm simply letting my imagination run wild.

One more thing: The Poison Ivy in this story is based off the New 52 version, Why? Because she is hot in the New 52 version. lol

Enjoy! and Remember, Read and Review!

With Love~ Dresner


Finnigan's Pub, Gotham City, 11:00pm

Finnigan's pub is an Irish pub in Gotham's Irish district founded during 1900 during the massive waves of Irish immigrants coming into the city following the great potato famine. John Finnigan opened the pub in order to make the Irish portion of Gotham a little more homey for his fellow Irish as they came off the boat from their beloved Ireland. As the years went by, The local cops began coming to the little hole in the wall before and after Prohibition in the 1920's. The end of Prohibition found a home to Gotham City's boys in blue soon after.

At the bar sat two men, a young ginger lad and a older Teutonic man, both clad in the same clothing, Black turtle necks, black waist high leather coats, dark jeans, and combat boots, drinking pints of dark Guinness together. They seemed almost out of place in the sea of dark and light blue uniforms of Gotham's 'Finest', but the cops were use to Irishmen dressed in such a manor that they didn't even notice the strangers.

"Sir," Rick "Ricky" Larson, the Ginger, asked his friend. "When is Herr Opa going to arrive?"

His older friend let out a light heart chuckle as he took another sip of his pint, "He will show when he wants. Just calm down son, and don't call me sir. I'm just Karl. Now Herr Opa will demand that you call him sir."

Karl Dael, the older Teuton, and Rick Larson, the ginger, have only been in Gotham for a few weeks since their departure only a few months ago following the wake of the closing of Arkham City and the death of the Joker. After Harley and Batman retreated to their love nest, Karl took Ricky, a petty thief and message runner for the mob, under his wing after the fall of Harley Quinn's gang. He felt bad for the young Ricky, After all he lost work because of him. Things are tough in this day and age due to near economic collapse and outsourcing has lead to the legal job market to wither to nothing, not to mention the exodus of the various Gotham families due to the opening of Arkham City and the uncertainty of the events leading to the Joker's death raised fears of Batman's 'No killing' policy being nothing but a Myth, at least to the lower forms of life such as the Falcone and Thorn families.

Due to the havoc caused by him that fateful night last winter lead to Karl having to lay low for awhile in his former hometown of Trussville, Alabama, with his new friend Rick. For four months he trained Rick in the ways of a solider, a real solider, and taught him a large amount of his extensive knowledge of combat and weapons training. Just like Slade Wilson taught him years ago...

With their names buried under the countless acts of terror by Gotham's infamous rogues, The Black Hunter and his apprentice returned to Gotham with a simple plan. A plan that would require the aid of his mentor and surrogate father, Slade Wilson.

Two hands fell on the opposing shoulders of the two men, instinct forcing them to reach into their coats for their handguns. But out of the corner of their eyes they saw the grey haired and one eyed Slade Wilson standing behind them in matching attire.

"If I was an assassin, I could have snapped both of your necks, cleared the bar, and finished the mission myself." Slade snapped, snatching Rick's pint and finishing off quickly. "I thought you taught him everything you know Karl?"

"Don't you mean half of everything you know, Herr Opa?" Karl responded with a snicker. "Good to see you again sir." Karl let out his hand to his mentor to shake his hand.

Slade gave a dark chuckle and shook the Black Hunters hand, "A Quarter would do and Likewise."

Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the Terminator, or simply Slade, was a world renown assassin and solider of fortune, The best Solider of fortune. Slade began his life at age 16 when he joined the US. Army and went on to serve his country during the Vietnam War. The war brought out the best in him, earning several decorations and pushed him up the Army hierarchy to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. Soon the army chose him for a special program that was under development, the famed and legendary 'Super Solider' programs of the 1960's.

Being the only man who survived the augmentations, needles, serums, and over the sheer pain, The project was deemed a failure by the US Military and the War Department, AKA the Department of Defense (DOD). Thus Slade turned into the unstoppable death bringer Deathstroke. His past up to that point was all Karl knew about his mentor, Other than his dead son and living Daughter, Ravager, but the rest was a mystery.

The two met while in the Suicide Squad and soon Slade saw promise in the angry and aimless Karl. Slade respected him for his service in the military, whatever branch and in what country was another story, but also because he saw a lot of himself in him. Karl held him in high regards as well, but his arrogance rather bothered him as well as his rather questionable actions such as helping the League of Assassins. But he had no room to question such actions:

After all he did volunteer for Waller's Suicide Squad...

"I see the younger one hasn't seen combat yet." Slade remarked as he took a seat next to Karl and ordered another round for his other sons.

"I use to help the mob, Sir. I was also in Arkham City with the Joker's crew." Rick interjected only for Slade to reply with a scoff.

Slade pulled down the neck of his turtle neck revealing the letters M.A.C.V and S.O.G all in bold in a tab tattooed on his neck. "The Mafia and that reject are nothing to what I have seen and accomplished in my years."

"You were in MACV SOG, Sir?" Karl asked with mild curiosity as he finished his first drink and began on the second.

"I was the cream of the crop." Slade replied as he took his beer in hand for a toast. "And always will be."

"Damn Straight." Karl replied, toasting with his mentor and leaving out Rick.

"What's MACV SOG?" Rick asked them.

Before Slade could reply with a snippy remark Karl replied, "Military Assistance Command Vietnam and Service and Operation Group. They were Special Forces and Intelligence Outfits during the Vietnam War. In other words, Don't brag about your hard times because ol'Deathstroke here will tell you some shit that will make you pray for the Bat to come down and beat the shit out of you."

"Surprising that you know of MACV SOG Karl." Slade replied with a smirk.

"It ain't a surprise that you were in that outfit." Karl chuckled before finishing his second pint.

"OK whatever," Rick said annoyingly as he looked over his shoulder at the cops gathered at a table near by drinking. "Why are we here in this cop dive anyways? These guys are making me skittish."

"They're off duty," Karl remarked turning around to look right at them. "The only cop I know that would drink on duty would be that Harvey Bullock character. And besides, we aren't doing anything wrong at this moment and if we were..." Karl unbutton his coat to reveal the pearl grip of one of his Mauser C-96 pistols to Ricky. "We wouldn't have to worry about anything here."

Ricky's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates at Karl's blatant act of revealing he was armed in pubic, let alone in a Bar full of Cops! "Bro! What the fuck?! There are cops here! What are you thinking!?" Ricky whispered frantically, gazing over to the cops hoping that he didn't attract the attention of any of the boys in blue. "When am I gonna get my piece anyways? You've been holding out on me."

"First thing Richard, calm down." Slade told him as he finished his own pint. "Keep your thoughts clear and calm or else you might end up in a ditch without a trace of DNA to find your killer. Second of all, I do not see a reason for giving you a firearm, let alone a butter knife, without proof of your skills with one."

"Keep calm, Cherry." Said Karl, calling him by a nickname for F.N.G's (Fucking New Guys). "Herr Opa has to see if you have Iron in your Heart before I can put Iron in your hands. After all, What's the point of giving you a gun if you'll just drop it and run."

Rick rolled his eyes and stormed out into the February winters night. Leaving Karl rather offended at the sight before him.

"Hey Cherry! You didn't finish your beer!" Karl shouted, followed by the drunken taunts of the off duty cops.

The two veteran hired guns returned to their pints and resumed their conversation. "It seems your grunt is in need of a refresher course on who he's speaking to." Slade hissed.

"He's young, Sir." Karl replied frankly. "The youth of this new generation isn't necessarily the most cool headed. But they are brave enough for my taste."

"Stupid would be the more appropriate term to describe them, especially one who was apart of the Joker clan." Slade said contemptuously as he turned for the door. "We'll speak outside."

Karl nodded, paying for the drinks, wished the cops a good night, and walked outside to see Ricky nervously chain smoking near an alley way where Slade stood patiently at the wall near by. In training Ricky would break under some form of stress, Karl tried his best to break that habit out of the young lad in hopes of getting him ready for real combat. The boy was a good shot, maybe as good as him, but he couldn't take the stress and the chain smoking didn't help him.

He caught Ricky's attention and quickly snubbed out the cigarette in his mouth with his gloved hands. "Easy on the smokes now. Gotham isn't really the cheapest place to pick up a pack of smokes." Karl told him in a calm and brotherly.

"How the fuck am I suppose to be calm in a bar full of pigs with you flaunting your piece around like some cowboy outta a John Wayne flick?" Ricky exasperated sucking down the last bit of the cigarette before tossing it on the ground. "We ain't in Alabama! You can't just wave that box cannon around like that here. Gotham PD doesn't like anyone with a gun, not even a museum piece like that! It's either they have the guns or your going to prison to get-"

"Enough wasting time." Slade interjected, He never liked his time to be wasted. "Are we going to get along with this plan of your Karl or are we having to listen to this child throw out his excuses?"

"One moment sir." Karl told him respectfully. "Rick, just remember this one saying: It don't mean a thing."

Slade backed off with a cold smirk and a nod to Karl. Slade knew the old saying better than the two of them could ever hope to know, After all the Viet Cong were his teachers and ol' Uncle Ho was his principal. Thank the heavens for not sending him to the Hanoi Hilton...

It don't mean a god damn thing, Slade thought to himself as Karl left the saying to sink into the young Ricky Larson.

"I have an old beater down the alleyway that will take us to a more upscale sedan to fit in better in upscale Gotham." Karl told the two as he lead the two down the dark alley way to a beat up red Oldsmobile sitting near a rusty dumpster. "Our objective is just a simple intel op."

"Intel?" Ricky asked curiously.

"Inteligence. Something that you do not have." Slade snipped, "Is this it, Karl?"

As they reached the car Karl opened the passenger door and retrieved a envelope to which he handed to Slade promptly before he stormed off, The highest paid mercenary may have the highest level of training, but patients isn't one of them.

He open the file and to his surprise to see their old handler, Amanda Waller, and the CEO of Gothcorp, Ferris Boyle, speaking to one another with various Military and Private firms in the meeting hall of Gothcorp's American Firm. He flipped through the file until coming to a ripped document with a red stamp with the name "SEVENTH WAVE" imprinted at the top of the page along with one name: Codename- Lennox.

"Seventh Wave?" Slade asked curiously. "Lennox?"

"What's Gothcorp meeting with the feds for?" Ricky asked just as curious as Slade. "I thought that big shot, Boyle, was a good guy helping people and shit. Whats the word for'em?"

"Philanthropist and Humanitarian." Slade replied. "Former Philanthropist and Humanitarian until Batman found his R&D team constructing Cryogenic weapons six, almost seven, years ago. It seems he bought himself out of Blackgate..."

"More like Waller paid the tab." Karl remarked in disgust. "This man has been producing weapons for years in secret. But I could careless about some underground arms dealer. What I do care about is why Waller is meeting with Boyle and, if its for weapons, Why is she going to him?"

"Wait, Pause the game." Ricky responded with a headache of confusion. "What's Boyle making guns for and who this Waller babe?"

"No idea and you do not want to know." Karl warned him. "But we are going to learn tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow? Can't we just storm the place and take the stuff now?" Rick said, making Slade laugh at his stupidity.

"Tomorrow is the 100th Anniversary of the Norton Baseball Field here in Gotham and I doubt that a Baseball fan such as Boyle will miss such an event to make a PR ploy to better his reputation among Gotham cities Elite." Karl told him, taking out a map of Gothcorp from the glove box of the car. "Not to mention that our window into Gothcorp..."

"Threw the underground railway under Gothcorp." Slade assumed.

"The subway?" Ricky asked.

"No, Rick. Gothcorp owns an underground railway station where special trains load or deliver special projects for Gothcorps R&D department. A special rail line guarded to T with some highly paid private contractors outta Blackwater USA, People that even I shouldn't be fucking with, and enough security systems to make the whole of Fort Knox look like a joke."

"If the security is this intense, How did you get these pictures?" Slade questioned him.

"Catwoman." Karl replied bluntly. "She can get anything, but, unlike her, we don't have the gear to climb on walls. Now that is what brings me to Mr. Boyle and Norton Field. Boyle is bringing a security team from Blackwater to accompany him, mainly to protect himself from the hand of Mr. Freeze or Batman if things ever get hairy. We stay at the game and act as if we are just regulars wanting to watch the game, We take out the guards when they go for a smoke break, take the uniforms, and make our way to the maintenance tunnels located in a closed off metro tunnel in Gotham's Diamond district. Once there it's child's play unless we get made. Take the intel and get out. Maybe dig into a few of his off shore accounts while we're at it. hehe."

Ricky shook his head nervously, "Karl I don't know man... It's this Illegal? I mean like ultra illegal? Not even Falcone would fuck with Boyle... Why are we fucking with him?"

Karl didn't say a word as he popped the trunk to the beater and drew him and Slade over to him. Laying in front of them were three short barreled AKMS assault rifles, The kind used in the Terminator movies, on single point harnesses, M-67 grenades, and various other pieces of gear. It was a light loadout, but had enough firepower to get them out of any jam they might get themselves into. The thirty and forty round magazines were either clamped or taped together with electrical tape laid around their gear along with black satchel bags.

"Take a bag and put your gear in them. The AK's are on single point harnesses and can hang with in your coats. Put the mags and frags in the bag and get in. We're going to an apartment near the stadium for the night and I don't want some junkie finding my gear." Karl said as he loaded a few 'Jungle taped' magazines and the snubbed AK before getting in the drivers seat.

Slade loaded one of the Snub AK's with a forty round magazine and chambered a round before throwing it on his shoulder. "Piece of Junk." Slade remarked about the rifle. "I only use the best of the best. But It seems my skills are being wasted on sub-grade weapons for a sub-grade job with a sub-grade operative. But at least my other success story is hear." Slade remarked rudely.

Rick rolled his eyes and looked away from Slade, he scared him terribly, and looked over to a strange flower on a near by window seal. It seemed to be looking at them, so he pointed the AK at the flower. Then it simply stood straight up...

Ricky put his gun down and rubbed his eyes before looking back at the flower to see it was looking at him again. He shook his head violently before taking a seat in the back of the car.

"Something wrong Rick?" Karl asked Ricky.

"I should stop drinking..." He said half jokingly as he turned back at the flower as the car slowly lurched forward. The flower was followed them until they rounded a corner and disappearing into the darkness.

Far away from Karl and his team in the Gotham Park, Poison Ivy laid in her bed of flowers like a goddess looking down on earth from heaven with a wicked smirk on her face. Poison Ivy was once a prominent ecological scientist working for the betterment of the natural world, but soon turned to more extreme means to achieve her goals. Using a mixture of Plant and Animal DNA, She fused them together with her body and thus Poison Ivy born. The mixture of Plant DNA turned her skin a light green and her irises emerald, gave her immunity to poisons, and gave her control over plant life itself. She wore a black bodysuit covered with living plants to add to her plant motif along with her green lips and bright red hair.

"Hmmm... Mr. Boyle, Slade Wilson, Karl Dael... I wonder who else will be attending the game?" She wondered as she switched to another collection of flowers in the lush garden of Wayne Manor.

"Brucey! The game is tomorrow! I wanna go! Please please please!" The bubbly voice of Harley Quinn plead to Bruce Wayne, Her boyfriend.

"Of Course Harleen. Anything for you." Bruce replied.

Ivy's smile grew wide. "Bruce Wayne and Harley, Which means Batman will surely be there to save his Harley... An all star audience for my return to greater Gotham..."

A dark laugh echoed throughout the park as Ivy began preparations for the new day, The day of the flower.