I'm back with the next chapter, with a guest appearance by another major comic book villain that needs no introduction. Sorry it took so long, I've had a lot of stuff on my plate. Expect me to be slow in my updates in both Born to Kill and Cold Reception.

DISCLAIMER: Last time I checked, I didn't own Teen Titans or Deathstroke. I checked again, and I still don't own them.

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Employ me,

And victory is surely yours. Sun Tzu, The Art of War

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Chapter 2: Family Guy

Present Day, Metropolis, United States

The office was enormous. The middle of the floor was covered in the finest velvet red carpet with several ornamental plants arranged perfectly in two rows between the carpet and the high one-way-glass windows, layered with gold and soundproofed, offering a 360 degree view of Metropolis. At the far end of the office was a spotless clean mahogany desk with papers neatly stacked to one side and an American flag behind it. Most of the papers contained information about stocks, shares and other important company information.

But the papers that Lex Luthor was pouring over had nothing to do with how well LuthorCorp was doing. He was reading all about Steve Dayton's revolutionary new wonder metal from his secret operatives, and he wanted it. In his never-ending battle for supremacy against the Man of Steel, he wanted everything that could give him a potential advantage over the most powerful person on the planet.

"Facinating." he murmured under his breath.

"Indeed it is." agreed a new, suave voice.

Luthor jumped up in his seat, papers flying all over the place. To his left stood a heavily armoured man wearing a mask that was black on the right side of his face and orange on the left, from which a solitary blue eye regarded Luthor shrewdly.

"Deathstroke! How did you get past my security?"

"Very easily." Deathstroke didn't elaborate. "Don't bother trying to call for it now. It has been neutralised. Down to the little red button you are pressing under your desk."

He was right. Luthor's security console beneath his desk was unresponsive.

Luthor scowled at the mercenary. "I hope you didn't kill anyone. Blood makes an awful mess, you know."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't waste my energy on those pathetic greenhorns."

Luthor reclined back in his luxurious leather armchair. "So what brings you here, Mr. Wilson? Trouble with those playground terrorists?"

It was Deathstroke's turn to glare. "That does not concern you."

"It might." He said casually, putting his hands behind his bald head. "I have plans for expanding LuthorCorp into the West Coast. And from what I've heard, you'll need all the help you can get if you want to rid yourself of a few bratty teenagers."

Deathstroke cracked his knuckles. "Need I remind you that I could kill you right here and now?"

"I doubt you will. Otherwise you would have done so already. You obviously want something."

"Very perceptive. I heard about your interest in the metal known as Promethium. And I'd like to deliver it to you."

Luthor raised an eyebrow. "I thought you quit mercenary work?"

"I decided to come out of retirement."

Luthor considered Deathstroke's offer of help. Before he had pitted himself against the Teen Titans, Deathstroke had been universally recognized in the criminal underworld as the ultimate mercenary. He was efficient, dependable and had a virtually stainless record of success. But most of all, he was trustworthy, and carried out instructions to the letter. That being said, you had to be very precise and careful in describing what you wanted done.

"Very well, Terminator," Luthor accepted. "What do you know about the new metal?"

"Only that it can double not only as a powerful energy source, but as a highly durable alloy when mixed with vanadium and titanium."

"Near indestructible, apparently." Luthor added. "You can see my interest in it."

Deathstroke looked at Luthor curiously. "Why do you continue in these fruitless attempts to kill Superman? You cannot win."

Luthor's face darkened with rage. "I have my reasons, let's just leave it at that." But the mercenary noticed Luthor's hand fly up slightly, as if to stroke his scalp. "Returning to the matter at hand."

"Of course. Please continue. I will need all the intelligence that you can give me."

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19 years ago, somewhere in Virginia

Far to the west of Richmond, at the foot of the forest-clad Blue Ridge Mountains was a humble looking wooden cottage that seemed to half blend in with the surrounding oak and chestnut forest. In front of the house was a wide field of lush emerald grass sprinkled with colourful wildflowers.

Slade Wilson strode up the gravel pathway in his army uniform, past the neatly ordered rose bushes to the unlocked front door. Because the Wilsons lived in such a relatively remote area, thieves were not a problem. Of course, you had to travel an extra bit further to get groceries, but the peace and tranquility after a solid month of military campaigns was worth it. He had to admit, Adeline could really pick a house.

Slade stepped inside the kitchen. It was old fashioned, with much of the floor and walls made of polyurethaned oak wood. A pot of water boiled on top of a gas stove, the blue flames licking the bottom of the copper pot.

But there was no cook.

Slade treaded quietly through the kitchen and into the living room. The room was small, but furbished in a rich red carpet with a couch and a small television. There was no sign of life here either.

He checked Grant's room. The walls were painted blue and the room was stuffed with toys. Many of them were teddy bears and other assorted stuffed animals, but there were a few toy soldiers strewn over the floor and bedspread.

Slade quietly walked toward the small bed where his three year old son Grant was sleeping. He looked so much like him; he had handsome, golden blond hair with pale blue eyes, hidden behind his closed eyelids. He'd be a great man one day, he thought to himself proudly.

CLICK.

Slade sighed in disappointment and turned around to face his wife, armed with a pistol aimed at his head. He didn't raise his hands.

"You got me again, Addie." Slade said calmly.

"You always let your guard down." Adeline smirked.

"Do you mind putting that thing away?" Slade asked playfully. "You'll shoot an eye out one of these days."

Adeline lowered her gun and walked toward Slade. She had a natural beauty, unlike all the others who hid behind their dyed hair and mascara. She had lustrous brown hair, circular gold earrings and intelligent hazel eyes. But Slade hadn't married her just for her looks. Although she looked like your average American housewife in her red dress and shirt, she was one of the best military instructors in the US Army, specialising specifically in guerrilla warfare. She was literally Slade's mentor, and no matter how hard he tried to beat her at her own little game, she always came out with the gun to his head.

She embraced Slade, kissing him warmly for a few seconds on her tiptoes.

She released him. "How did it go?"

Slade's carefree expression was quickly erased, becoming somewhat stony. "He got off."

"You're joking." she said, visibly shocked. "There was enough evidence to court-martial his arse to the chair!"

"All Sampson got was a lousy reprimand. A slap on the hand."

"But they must have known about his dealings with the Iranians! That's treason!"

"He has some powerful connections." Slade spat bitterly. "Apparently he has a stake in the arms industry, who literally made a killing in the war. His reputation may be tarnished, but he's off the hook thanks to some of his 'friends' there and in the military."

Adeline looked saddened. "I don't know what else to say. You did what you could."

"Did I? Three good men died needlessly in that hellhole, and have died for nothing that mattered to them. I knew them all since I joined up." Slade looked visibly upset and angry. His friends were like the brothers he never had, and he couldn't stand to lose them. Adeline could only wonder as to what would happen if his family were threatened.

"I wish I could just kill the bastard." he snarled.

"Daddy? What's wrong?" groaned Grant, rubbing his eyes.

Slade started, calming down a little. "Sorry dear boy, I'm just a little bit angry. Go back to sleep."

He ruffled Grant's hair affectionately and tucked him back in. Then he and Adeline backed out the bedroom door and closed it shut.

"You should spend more time with him." she said.

"Hmm?"

"He hardly sees you because of work. It would be nice if you could play with him. Take a break from all this crap. You are the strongest and most determined man I know. But you aren't a superman."

Slade hesitated, then nodded. "You're right. There's nothing more I can do. For now." He added.

He went back into Grant's room, where his son had obviously been listening in on their conversation.

"Grant, how would you like to go fishing with your old man?"

Grant's eyes lit up excitedly. "Yeah!"

Adeline frowned. "Honey, we don't have any fishing rods."

"Who's talking about rods?" Slade grinned, loading up his pistol.

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I decided on contrasting the kind of company Slade associates with at present with what he had in the past. Grant was Slade's first son in the comics and is pivotal to Slade's story. Adeline was Slade's wife in the comics as well, and also has a big part to play later on.

Not a great chapter, in my opinion. I've been caught up in a lot of stuff, so I'm going to be slow. Regardless, I'd like to know what you think.