Year Four.
Rule #3: Do not disobey your teacher
It had been a slow few months. Not many contracts of his caliber had been put out, and even the ones that he might have considered were often snapped up by less-experienced killers willing to do the job for pennies. Of course, when boys are hired to do a man's work, mistakes are made. Leaving a trail was the most common. Mister Wilson never left a trail - or rather, he never left anyone alive to follow it.
Wintergreen had approached him recently, claiming to finally have something of interest. The contract proposal was vague (as usual, damnit), but it was from one of the biggest oil barons in North America - men like that had interesting enemies and plenty of money to have such foes killed off. If nothing else, the contract would be easily over with and leave Mister Wilson a good deal richer. He agreed to meet with the caller, and Wintergreen organized the rest.
A few days later, Mister Wilson arrived outside the LexCorp Research Park in the suburbs of Metropolis, driving his rental past the empty security booth just an hour after sundown. The entire 'civilian visitor' facade was bullshit and he could have easily hopped the fence when no cameras were looking, but the man who had called for Deathstroke had politely requested that his security be involved as little as possible, and Wilson was not one to complain about having to drive a little.
Following the instructions left for him by the man, he parked the car outside the main building and shrugged his heavy coat on as he stepped out into the chilly evening. It was idiotic to be meeting here - the place was far too exposed and open to the public, drastically increasing the chance of someone listening in while the contract was organized. The research park seemed to be empty - there were only a few cars in the dim lot and no employees were visible through the glass doors - but he still got the sense that he was being watched. It only took a moment for him to locate his stalker sitting in a coupe parked nearby, the man eyeing him curiously from the other side of the glass until Wilson decided to approach. The man exited his car, smoothing back his russet hair and smirking dangerously as he greeted the mercenary.
"You must be Deathstroke," Alexander Luthor addressed him, "I understand you are quite a busy man, so thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice-"
"You can skip the formalities," Wilson scowled, shooting Luthor a look that usually sent the weaker-willed off running, "I'm here on business - the sooner this is over with, the sooner I can do my job."
"Of course," the oil baron nodded, unperturbed by his hard glare, "Let's get this underway, shall we? If you'll just follow me, I have something I'd like to show you before we begin drawing up the contract."
Wilson was not given a chance to protest before Luthor set off at a brisk pace for one of the nearby darkened buildings, crossing the parking lot with the tall mercenary following close behind. If Slade's intel on the man was correct, some of the laboratories in the research park might just be manufacturing armaments instead of fuel, so Wilson would not have been surprised if that's what Luthor wanted him to see. It wouldn't be the first time one of his more eccentric customers had requested that the job be done with a particular weapon of choice - and Wilson could work with that just fine on the condition that he was paid well for the service.
Alexander fished a ring of keys from his coat pocket and soon had the front door of the laboratories unlocked, ushering Mister Wilson inside before locking it behind them. The man moved quickly down the dim hallway, passing various work rooms already locked up for the night before he finally stopped in front of an elevator. The doors opened with a soft ping mere moments after Herr Luthor pressed the 'down' button, and the two men stepped inside.
"I am well aware of your price, Mister Wilson, and even spoke with a few of your previous customers - all of whom were highly satisfied with your work," Alexander explained, lightly tapping his keycard against a seemingly blank panel below the floor selection buttons, and the doors slid shut in response, "I'd like to propose an offer for your services at two-hundred-fifty-thousand US Dollars per annum, but we can bargain over the required hours later-"
"What the hell do you mean?" Wilson growled, steadying himself as the small room began descending below ground. Contracts were a once-off thing - they didn't last an entire year, much less require hours of work.
Alexander glanced up at the taller man. "Rumor has it you've taken on students to learn your methodology before, Mister Wilson. The rumors are true, yes?"
"I've taught a few," Wilson admitted reluctantly, confirming Luthor's suspicions. The elevator's quick descent slowed to a halt and the doors opened again, allowing the two men to step out into a narrow concrete corridor. Alexander smiled at the mercenary's reply and took the lead, moving down the hallway to a door at the end.
"Well, Mister Wilson," he said confidently, pausing with his hand on the knob, "This student might turn out to be your best one yet."
V*V*V*V*V*V*V
Lisa sighed, rubbing her tired eyes before going back to logging the blood test results. Sometimes she forgot how different the little girl on the other side of the glass really was - she seemed so innocently human, but understanding how her alien body worked was almost a completely new science in itself.
At four years old, Stormkrigeren was already years ahead of any human child her age, completing her lessons at an incredible pace all while memorizing every word of her textbooks. She was far stronger and more physically developed than the average four-year-old, and faster too, but she always seemed to be a little on the small side and she struggled with understanding basic relationship concepts like emotions and empathy. If she had been a normal human child, Lisa would have easily diagnosed her with Asperger's or some other form of high operating autism, but Stormkrigeren was an extraterrestrial whose mind and body worked in ways Schreyer doubted could ever be fully understood, and she wondered if there even was such a thing as mental disabilities where the little girl came from - wherever that was.
But right now she didn't have the time or energy to seriously contemplate the question of 'how alone are we in the universe', having spent the past few hours going through all of the child's work for the day. As usual, every question was correct right down to the girl's immaculate handwriting, and now Lisa only needed to finish documenting the blood test results in the system and make sure that Stormkrigeren got to bed on time before waiting for Dr. Shienne to come take the night shift.
She heard the distant ping of the elevator down the hall and nearly sighed in relief, guessing that it was likely Shienne arriving to start her shift of simply ensuring that the subject didn't escape or mysteriously pass away overnight. Not that either of those was likely, but it gave Lisa a few hours to head back to her Metropolis apartment for a long bath and deep sleep.
To her surprise, it wasn't the middle-aged pediatrician who stepped into the Watching Room a moment later, but Herr Luthor himself, followed by a well-built man with short, silvery hair and a scowl that seemed permanently etched on his face.
"Sir-" she began, addressing her employer before he quickly interrupted her.
"We're here to visit Stormkrigeren, Dr. Schreyer," Luthor informed her. She nodded and glanced inquisitively at the other man, noting his hard stare and the pale scar streaking over one of his cheekbones. Only half-a-second had passed before Luthor impatiently decided that she had paused long enough.
"This is Stormkrigeren's new teacher," he explained, indicating the man beside him, "My assistant will send you your updated schedule in the morning, but if you value your job, Schreyer, I highly suggest you open the damn door!"
Lisa hid a flinch at his raised voice as she reluctantly turned to her workstation and swiped her key card, watching as the steel door at the opposite end of the Watching Room slid back. Luthor only nodded sharply in approval before the two men descended the short flight of stairs to enter her charge's Room.
A small girl with short black locks and strikingly blue eyes looked up expectantly as they entered, caught in the act of diligently stacking her workbooks to be put away for the night. She paused from the task and silently got up to stand to attention, obediently keeping quiet until she was permitted to speak, but it didn't stop her from glancing curiously at the newcomers. The silver-haired man stopped when he saw her, his eyes darkening as he turned on Luthor, "You implied the student would be competent."
"It is, it is," Luthor quickly amended, "It is just as strong as any other student a man of your caliber would take on - perhaps even more so-"
"She's a child," the silver-haired man growled, "I expected at least a teenager, someone who could pull their own weight - not an effing infant. Call the contract off - I won't take it, and no one else will."
Luthor looked like he was about to protest again when the girl spoke up for the first time.
"What do you teach?"
The silver-haired man turned his hard gaze down on her, taking in her small stature and military demeanor as she stared back, unperturbed by the stranger's glare. He seemed to assess her and her question before answering, "I don't teach."
"You and Herr Luthor both called me as a 'student' and said that I need to be strong to be taught by a man of your kal-e-bur, so you must have been talking about teaching me," the girl replied, folding her hands behind her back as she puffed out her chest in pride, "I am strong. I had strength training yesterday, and I deadlifted eighty kilos."
Luthor frowned, "Keep your mouth shut-"
The silver-haired man silenced him with a wave of his hand, his gaze never leaving the small girl.
"Let's say you are strong enough and I took you on as my student. Would you still be just as eager if you had to fight me?"
The question obviously caught her by surprise and Stormkrigeren paused, taking a moment to consider the idea of having to physically fight a man more than three times her size.
It was a trick question. It had to be. Dr. Schreyer liked asking them because she said they really made one think about the answer very hard. Stormkrigeren had read enough of the books Herr Luthor brought her sometimes to know that everyone fights for what they have the least of, but even if you lost the fight you would still gain recognition for having at least tried to win. That was what fighting was about.
"You already know who would win," she answered slowly, meeting his dark eyes, "But I wouldn't be afraid to try, if only just to say that I fought."
The stranger gave her a hard look and seemed to consider her answer. Deep down, Stormkrigeren knew that she probably would not make the best sort of student for fighting - she was small for her age and Lisa said that she took too long to reply or understand sometimes, and she didn't know much about fighting besides what she had already told the stranger. She wouldn't have been surprised if the silver-haired man decided to leave her Rooms right then and look for a better student, but to her surprise, he didn't go away and asked her another question instead.
"Are you a good listener?" he interrogated, his hard gaze softening ever so slightly. Stormkrigeren nodded and resisted the urge to play with her fingers nervously when she answered.
"Yes, sir."
"If I told you to do something that you knew would hurt, would you still do it if I said it'd work out in the long run?"
There was a brief moment of hesitation before she nodded, but at least she had agreed. What really worried Mister Wilson was the way the girl's gaze flickered towards Herr Luthor, diligently staying out of arm's reach and always keeping an eye on the oil baron, a shadow of a flinch crossing her face every time he raised his voice, which was often. The entire contract was full of red flags, and on any other day Slade might have turned it down, but today he was feeling sentimental.
Grant used to fiddle with the hem of his sweater when he was nervous - at least until Slade had forced him to stop. The boy obeyed, but only when his dad was around and usually went right back to it when the older man wasn't looking. The habit had finally stopped when Slade sat him down and began to explain the basics of what he did, and eventually fighting replaced fidgeting in Grant's life. The only problem was that he fought too much and too often and afterwards never listened to anything Slade tried to tell him, though deep down his father was glad for that. The boy knew how to defend himself, and that was all that mattered.
Now this girl in front of him didn't know the first thing about defense, and by the looks of things had already paid Mister Luthor's price for her ignorance. Fool that he was, Slade wanted to fix that. He wanted to try again, to make right whatever he had done wrong with Grant. He wanted to give her a chance, to prevent another angry kid from being stuck in the same cycle of violence their entire life, to at least give her something to defend herself with, even if that something was just her fists.
She'd make a good fighter. She was small, strong, probably quite fast, a good listener, and focused on both the details and the bigger picture, not to mention also the perfect age to begin training. It was a combination of traits perfect for a life of combat if only she had the right training and teacher. Which was what Slade was about to become - not for himself, but for the small girl standing attentively before him, ready to learn to fight. Slade just hoped that she fought for the right people.
He nodded once as if to confirm that he liked what he saw, and finally turned to Luthor beside him, "Five-hundred per annum. Upfront."
"Mr. Wilson!" Luthor sputtered, "That's twice as much as we agreed on-"
"Then make it six-hundred. You get the money and I'll consider taking her on," Mr. Wilson replied threateningly, moving towards the door. The man would cave, and as expected, Luthor called after him a moment later.
"Make it fifty a month, and you would only have to be here… ninety hours of it."
Mr. Wilson stopped mid-step, glancing over his shoulder at the man and grunted in response, "You drive a hard bargain. Seventy-two hours, minimum."
Luthor frowned, but shook the stranger's hand, sealing the deal. Stormkrigeren silently watched the exchange and remained silent as the two men turned to leave her Room when Mr. Wilson looked back to address her, "Be ready, Student."
"What for?" she asked, and he chuckled mirthlessly.
"I'm your teacher now. Be ready to learn."
"But I still don't know what you teach."
Mister Wilson shook his head and honestly looked like he would rather strangle her than tell before crouching down to beckon her over. Stormkrigeren obeyed, observing him warily as he pulled a bowie from the sheath in his belt and held it up so her face was reflected in the steel. Stormy blue eyes stared back at her, scarred by the old pockmarks and ridges marking the blade, and it was then that she understood. "You'll teach me how to… to kill?"
Mister Wilson's lip twitched with the hint of a smile.
"No. I'll teach you how to fight."
V*V*V*V*V*V*V
Her first lesson began early the next week when Mr. Wilson and his black duffel bag arrived to begin her 'training' as he deemed it. What she was training for, no one ever explained, but she wisely decided to go along with it.
Mr. Wilson was the fourth man she could ever remember meeting, but he and Herr Luthor were the only ones she saw often after Angklow and Lee limited their visits to once a month. Her new teacher was considerably different from Mr. Luthor in almost every aspect, except that both of them seemed to be permanently on the edge of lashing out, though Mr. Wilson was better at holding back. He also spoke less and looked her in the eye, and often would address her by name, which Stormkrigeren found a little odd. This was not to say that he was necessarily kinder than Stormkrigeren's guardian, but he did seem to have a higher level of patience.
Upon his arrival, Mr. Wilson had made her stand in the center of the Room and interrogated her for nearly an hour in his harsh, clipped way in an attempt to discover how much she already knew. Her street-smart skills were not very developed (he could easily guess why, considering that it seemed like she never left the Rooms Luthor had made for her), but was well educated and had a good knowledge of physics and movement. She also spent some of her study time in the kitchen, so was familiar with the various types of kitchen knives and even knew the difference between a knife and a dagger (which was better than most kids her age). As promised, she was strong, resilient, and attentive, which Mr. Wilson valued highly. Despite his reluctance to take the job, Stormkrigeren would admittedly make a half-way decent student.
The first month of lessons were focused entirely on teaching the four-year-old how to throw an effective punch. The muscle movement, the power, the aim, the focus, offense and defense drilled into her little head until she could destroy a punching bag in her sleep with nothing but her fists. They trained mostly on the bag, though occasionally Mr. Wilson would suffer to get down on his knees and allow the child to try and knock him out. Stormkrigeren had a mean fist, but never managed to drop him, and when she had struck her blow, he would reply in kind. There was rarely a time when she did not at least stumble and often drop to the floor, but proudly refused to cry out and would promptly attempt to deck him again. Unlike most children who needed some form of weak encouragement to keep at a task, Mr. Wilson found that all Stormkrigeren required was a goal - and she would not stop until she reached it.
One day, she did achieve the sacred objective by fending off enough of her Teacher's blows to give him a solid black eye and force him to back down. Stormkrigeren had nearly been ashamed at first, but Mr. Wilson promised her that pain was a good thing as it helped one learn faster. He had concluded the lesson there and promised to be back next week to teach her how to kick.
Author's Note: Hello! My apologies for posting this chapter a day early, I am traveling again tomorrow and will be unable to upload, so I'm publishing this now so ya'll have something to read over the weekend! Please enjoy, and leave kudos and comments! I might upload a tiny bit late next week as the next chapter has been giving me a bit of trouble, but it's nearing completion and I will hopefully have it up by next Saturday!