Have a Heart

Alexnandru Van Gordon

"Response to Dlsky's challenge."

(Estimated time between updates…every one or two weeks on the weekends. I can't be sure because I share the computer and ever since my older sister started writing her papers for university, my typing time has been cut down considerably. The reason for this one being so early is because Saturday I'm gone to my little sister's birthday the entire day, and Sunday I'm probably going out to the country (country-country with the horses and the handmade homes) to see my old-folk.)

Wow…I love competitions. There's nothing better to get the blood flowing and the writer's block unclogged. I'm absolutely stumped for my other stories so maybe this challenge will open my eyes to something I've been missing for who-knows-how-long. Oops—rambling. And darn…I promised myself I wouldn't do that anymore…Oh well, too later for that. I think I'm too excited to calm down now…

SUMMARY: For Slade, a villain can be as evil and moral-less as he or she wants to be. But…what if, once in a blue moon, the bad guy realizes…maybe he isn't just as bad as he wanted—or thought—he could be…They all have a heart stored somewhere…

DON'T WORRY! Slade stays in character. Through-out the entire story

DISCLAIMER: Me—own this? Whoa—no way. I think you guys should watch a different news channel. I don't know what stories they're making up about people these days…

CHAPTER ONE: The job

Sinking away into the depth of yet another lair after a half-failure against a group of teenaged mental patients wasn't his idea of a peaceful after the possible end of the world. Well, they probably didn't think he lost the match against Trigon. They were probably too frustrated with themselves for letting him get away while they were celebrating, thinking him the victor instead. He was, in a way, the winner, but he lost just as much as he gained in the last couple of days that all his efforts were wasted for nothing. But…when you thought about it, becoming whole again after sinking into a pit of lava was an upside to his current situation. And to think—he, not even a villain constantly on watch by the Justice League, almost ended the world…That was something to remember.

And that was also something new to put on the To Forget list. If he had survived the destruction of the world, then—hey, whatever. Let's set the trees on fire and watch them burn—but when he was down on the list to be killed…well, he couldn't enjoy his victory if he was dead. Not that he couldn't be entirely dead—no way. True, thanks to Trigon he was whole again, but it was in his own nature to escape that lava fiasco one way or another alive.

Ever since that secret military experiment gone wrong back in his golden days, he was as immortal as any other meta-human could be. Made into a genius, strength enhanced, agility and speed increased dramatically—he was the perfect, and invincible, killing machine. He almost missed the good old days when he was the mercenary Deathstroke the Terminator, hunting down a couple of guys for some quick cash and the adrenaline rush that came with 'the hunt'. After all, how else would he be able to fund his diabolical schemes to take down the Teen Titans and spread his hate slowly worldwide—starting with none other than Jump City? But those days weren't the best of days either…He had his sons, Grant and Joseph, both dead now, and his young daughter somewhere out on her own in the world…all thanks to him. It was when he remembered those kinds of things that he wished the world would just leave him alone.

But the world didn't want to leave him alone. Even after escaping the end of the life as he knew it, evil tended to find him. He knew he wasn't in the phone book…and yet the customers still called.

"Deathstroke the Terminator, I presume…"

"A name long abandoned." He answered, keeping the annoyance in his voice to a medium level. Patience was his middle name.

Turning to face one of his large screens, he slid his hands behind his back and stared at the shaded figure on the line. Who in their right mind would want to call him?

"Is there a purpose for your calling or are you only here to gawk?"

"Not much of a fellow for chit-chat, are you? Never thought you would be either…"

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"Of course. Business first…" That dark silhouette shifted where he stood, obviously a representative of the person who really wanted to speak with Slade. "First of all, I need to know if you're still up for a well-paid job. Seeing how your robots are always destroyed on the news, I figured it isn't cheap to keep up in your kind of business."

"True…" When you thought about it, being prepared for the worst was never actually a bad thing. "And, tell me…why would I be interested in a new job?"

"Temporary. Just a quick mission; and the fact that six million is the reward if you complete it before our competition gets to what we're after first. Besides, I heard you enjoyed a good hunt…"

He stood for a moment to think it over. Usually he would trace the call and send off a robot or two to eliminate whoever it was that was calling and anyone else who knew how to reach him, but now that he though about it…it wouldn't hurt to leave the city alone for a while. All the amateur criminals would keep the Titans in shape while he was gone, and he could start on his next plan at any time…

"Who are you speaking for?"

Baffled, the man hesitated. "Excuse me?"

"I won't ask again."

"…Mr David Church."

Mr. Church…there wasn't much he knew about the man besides the fact that he controlled a rather large drug ring in New York City. The man had a history on him…but nothing that he could be caught at. The last he heard of the man was that he was getting into something larger than drugs…and it wasn't pretty.

"And why am I speaking to you instead of him?"

"He's away for the time-being, but he left me with a number for you to reach him at had you the need to speak with him personally. That is, if you accept the mission."

"And what exactly is this mission you keep telling me about?" He was getting bored.

"You're to find a young man who goes by the name of Peter Colin. He is currently at the country's best university in Germany…"

He waited…"Dead or alive?"

"Alive—all limbs attached, if you please. We need him for what he knows."

That was good enough for him.

"Mr. Church's number…"

-Break-

The instructions were clear. He had two weeks to find a young man under the name of Peter Colin and drag him all the way back to New York City in one piece with a beat in his heart and breathe in his lungs. He wasn't used to the plain kidnapping jobs—he wasn't much of the type of person who enjoyed the whole ordeal, but, by the way he was told to hurry, he had the strange sensation that guns would be needed anyway during the trip. If Mr. Colin was as important as people made him out to be, then perhaps whoever else was after him would put up a good fight.

And if they didn't, he'd be just as satisfied. He'd still get paid and he'd be to Germany and back again in no time soon. Either way, he won. An easy job.

Or so he thought.

In preparation for his little trip, he did the usual—looked up everything he could about his victim just to demolish any chance of escape for the now unfortunate man. The first problem he ran into was the multiple men he came up with. Of course, more than one person was bound to have a name like that so it didn't upset him in the least bit when his list grew tenfold. What did get on his nerves was, when pinpointing a 'Peter Colin' for the Freie Universitat Berlin (the University of Berlin), the fact that he now came up with nothing. There was no student by that name.

After of hours of hacking into different files and searching every person who went by the name of Peter in Berlin, he finally came across one piece of evidence that such a person did exist at the university at that very moment—an essay on some theory written and submitted to a local newspaper by none other than one Peter Colin.

The man worked hard to conceal his identity and lay low…Slade couldn't help but wonder why.

Early the next morning, dressed as a civilian, he boarded a plane and headed east to Europe. The flight took longer than he hoped, having started from the Pacific Coast of America, and he arrived in Berlin near the end of the day around five o'clock. His only hope was that the young man took lessons late in the afternoon.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Colin."

The woman at the front desk almost had a heart attack when she saw him. She was standing atop a chair, in the midst of replacing the cover to one of the overhead lights when she saw him. Not caring to stare at him properly, she sighed and nodded her head toward the left hall by her desk.

"Room 107." She said; dialect heavy. Had she been a smarter woman, she would have thought to stop a man dressed in a long coat, hat and scarf for questioning. It didn't matter though. All the better for him.

The long white hallways were empty; only one or two classes he passed were filled with students, and they were all too busy taking notes to notice him. It only took him a while to stalk down the right hallway and find 107, a large room with stairs leading down gradually to the front of the room where a long blackboard was built into the wall and another single board propped up on a stand to flip for extra use, angled sideways to the first. The room, to his surprise, was empty save for three people—two young men and an older woman in her late fifties or sixties.

Leaning against the front desk stood the first young man, hair short and black and posture bored. He held in his hand a paper with equations and markings scribbled everywhere in Slade's view. The woman, tall and blond, had her hair pulled back into a tight bun, arms crossed casually where she stood, not leaning, beside the first boy. The second boy, the point of focus, stood at the rotating blackboard, writing away at a long equation madly with a shrinking piece of white chalk. Hair short and a flaming red, Slade found it hard to believe a boy as young as him was at the board writing out something a graduate would be working on. He was tall and lithe, no older than twenty-three at most, dressed in a dark green turtle neck and standing like a proud teacher rather than a student. From the angle he stood, Slade could see the level of concentration on his face…

"You're right. It doesn't work." The boy at the board muttered in German. It was slightly broken, possibly due to only learning it a short while ago. "I think it's a typo in the text book."

"And the other students?" The second young man asked, handing his paper to the woman. "They're all going to get it wrong."

"I'll have to tell them all next class…unless…" Pressing the chalk hard against the board, he boldly circled part of the equation near the beginning. "I see…They'll most likely see this as the mistake when…" Stretching his arm up higher, he boldly circled another part of the equation. "You see here? Change this and it should all equal out…No, wait. That's wrong too."

"I still think it's a typo, Mr. Colin."

"I think so too…"

At least now he knew who he was after.

The young man began his work again, erasing half the equation to double-check—and Slade started quietly down the stairs, slipping off the hat, scarf and coat. When he reached near the bottom, he threw his things onto one of the other tables and stepped loudly onto the lower floor. All three people jumped at the sound and turned to see who was there, Peter breaking the chalk against the board in the process.

"Damn…that always happens…Who are—" Looking up from the fallen chalk, the younger man stared at Slade in shock and amazement. The woman raised an eyebrow and the other man looked more or less startled.

"Must be American." The woman muttered to the Peter, eyeing his mercenary suit. "People like this protect America?"

"I…don't believe I know whose side he's on…" The young man answered, green eyes suddenly flaring angrily. "But if he's here for the reason I think he is—"

"Peter Colin." Slade said calmly. "If you are familiar to this, than I expect you know the drill…"

"Unfortunately, yes…"

The other boy and woman stared at their friend oddly, watching as he rolled his eyes and sighed, pushing the rotating board away from him to reveal a portion of the wall. Reaching back his arm he grabbed the fire alarm and, before Slade could move, he pulled it.

Staring at his friends, Peter shrugged. "Now, we run."

Slade could have cared less about the other two people, speeding past them as they split up to catch the young man before he could slip away. The man, thankfully, was caught behind the desk when he tried to move and backed up with a sudden jolt into the wall blackboard.

"Wow, no head start? Can't a guy get a break around here?"

Slade didn't reply. Instead he grabbed the end of the desk and turned it on its side, slamming it forward to crush the man below the waist against the wall.

"Ow—jeez, I just got my foot out of a cast a week ago." The young man yelped, pushing it back and leaning against the wall for support. "Who the hell are you?"

"Does that really matter?"

"It would help to know who I'm up against." Peter grumbled. "Seeing that you know me, I at least deserve to know your name."

"Like I said—it doesn't matter."

"As if." He reached into a jean pocket and pulled out small bottle just as Slade advanced closer. He was given only a moment to see the bottle before Peter raised it and sprayed the contents in his one eye. The burning sensation came quickly, watering his eye as he tried to rub the pepper spray away. To his right he heard the sound of movement, reaching out one of his hands to catch the man before he could make a break for it. Unfortunately for Slade, the young man was faster than he gave him credit for and the only thing he felt was a wrist slip from his grasp.

-E-

He had no idea who the guy was—didn't really care either—but if he was like all the other guys he ran into every couple of months, then the best thing to do was put as much distance as he most possibly could between himself and the madman. Well, the pepper spray seemed to work for on a lot of guys. Maybe because they didn't expect a man to be carrying it around or…something like that.

Making his way up the stairs as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his healing leg, he glanced over his shoulder briefly to see what his opponent was up to. Much to his disappointment, the man was already starting up the stairs, gaining speed as took the stairs by fours in a wild sprint. And his eye was looking none too well…

Focusing back on the task at hand—escaping—he stared back up the stairs and came to one of the two doors leading out into the hall, still left open from when Mrs. Knefler and David bolted from the room. Hopefully the police would be there soon. If not…well, he was used to running.

Turning to his left, he dashed down the hall and slid to a halt near next the corner to turn again. The other man behind him was so close that he could hear the metal of his boots clicking a few feet behind him.

Up ahead was the front desk. The only thing opening it up to the hallway was a medium sized window that could be blocked off with a metal grate. Mrs. Klein, standing and putting away the rest of her work for the day, caught sight of him and dropped the pile of paper in her hands.

"Professor?" She asked in German, shrieking when she noticed the other man.

"Close the grate! Close the grate!" He replied, closing in on her. She did as she was told, reaching up and unlocking the grid. Just as she began closing it, a hand reached for his shoulder, just within view of the corner of his eye.

"She can't help you." The man muttered, clamping down on his shoulder—

—at the exact same moment he jumped and slid through the small gap left in the window, feet first. The grate fell on the man's hand, still holding onto a fistful of his sweater, and Mrs. Klein slammed it down further to loosen his grip. Peter's sweater tore anyway, but the man's hand pulled back and the grate locked in place, a few slits in the grate revealing to Peter the man throwing down the piece of sweater in frustration.

"You're not getting away that easy." He warned, pulling back his fist and ramming it into the grate. It dented, and broke at one point, a small hole growing in its place when the man punched again.

"Ummm…please tell me there's a way out of here…" Peter stared at the one locked door leading out into the hall beside the window. To leave that way would be a death wish waiting to be granted.

Mrs. Klein, eyes wide and slow with shock, reached into her coat pocket for a set of keys, turning toward a second door which led to the hallway on the other side of the small office. "Turn left to get to the library." She whispered, letting him out and starting in the other direction quickly. "Klaus was in there last."

Darn…he knew he was forgetting someone…

Klaus…He should have taken the kid home right after he finished school. Or maybe junior high schools shouldn't have Thursday's as half days…either way, he seriously didn't want to cause Klaus any more grief. They just moved there seven months ago…it was going great…

He should have known—nothing comes easy.

Sprinting down the hall, he heard a loud crash behind him. No doubt the grate finally giving way altogether to the madman on his heels…

Today really wasn't his day.

Or maybe it was.

Klaus, his thirteen-year-old younger brother, heard the fire alarm from inside the library. Now in the hallway, he spotted sight of his older brother and ran his way.

"Other way, Klaus! Go the other way!"

His brother frowned in confusion, pausing where he stood, but his eyes grew wide when he saw something behind Peter.

Glancing over his shoulder yet again, there he was—the same madman who crashed his train of thought. He almost had that equation figured out too…

Hand's moving rapidly, Klaus began to ramble in sign-language. Born without a voice, he was pretty good at it.

'Grab the fire extinguisher! Hit him with it or shoot him or something—'

"I'm not grabbing the damn fire extinguisher—NOW RUN!"

Rolling his eyes, Klaus obeyed. Running down the hall, he turned right at the corner and sprinted down toward the nearest exit. Luckily, it led to the parking lot.

Behind him was Peter and just a little ways further back was none other their opponent, speeding up twice as fast when he turned the corner himself.

"Get to the car, Klaus! I'll meet you out back!"

-S-

Honestly, this kid just didn't know when to give up. His younger brother—or who he was assuming to be his younger brother based on the short red hair and same green eyes—obeyed at long last and sprinted somewhere off into the parking lot. The young man followed, slipping through the door just as Slade reached out to grab him a second time, and took off down the sidewalk toward another university building.

He was getting tired of this…

-A-

There you have it—chapter one. I hope you guys are interested. It took me a while to figure out how I was going to have everything start—and I know Slade looks like the same villain he always was, but keep reading…You'll see…

Until Again,

Alexnandru Van Gordon