And here we are again. My mind has been really active as of late with regards to new ideas for fics... but unfortunately, none of that energy has generated anything new for my ongoing ones. So, as usual, I'm putting that energy to use, in whatever form it arrives as, and posting theme here. Hence the triple update. This one came as a result of several songs I've been listening to, the Sociology class I'm taking, and the fact that I've started watching Teen TiTans again. Enjoy!

Summary: Slade's plan was to destroy the Titans and take over Jump City. But Slade was only a mercenary, someone doing a job he was hired to. Which begs the question... who were his employers? Who hired Slade to defeat the Titans, and what will they do once he's gone?

Teen Titans: Immortal Malefactors

Chapter 1: Taking the Job

It was with no small amount of curiosity that Slade Wilson entered the warehouse. It was an old building near the docks that had been unused for several years, with several stacks of wooden crates assembled in the corners and a catwalk above his head.

The moment he set foot inside, he was able to instantly find at least five possible exit points, not counting the door he just stepped through. He also quickly checked if there was anyone in the shadows, waiting to attack. Seeing no one, he relaxed the slightest amount. This wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to lure him into a trap with the promise of job. All in the hope of claiming one of the many bounties on his head in various other countries.

But the bounties hadn't been placed for no reason. Although Slade wasn't one to brag, he was considered to be one of the most, if not the most, dangerous mercenary in entire world. The number of people he had killed for money was high enough that he had stopped trying to keep count long ago. But still, that didn't prevent people from thinking that they could still get the drop on him, instead of the other way around.

Luckily, this wasn't one of those times when someone tried, so he took another step into warehouse. The moment he did, the lights flickered on, bathing the interior in a faint yellow light, coming from bulbs that obviously needed to be replaced.

What caught his attention, however, was what was in the center of the warehouse. It was a large wooden dining table, covered in a white tablecloth, with two candles and a set of empty plates, enough to feed over a dozen people. There was one chair at the end closest to him. At the other end, two people were seated, a man and a woman, who Slade assumed to be the ones who wanted to hire him. An assumption that turned out to be true when the man called "Ah, so this is the infamous Deathstroke the Terminator. Please, sit!"

Though momentarily put-off by the strange display, Slade decided to do just that, and sat at the dining table. As he did, he got his first good look at his new employers.

They both appeared to be relatively young, early thirties at most, though he knew appearances could be deceiving. One thing he noticed was the rather pallid skin tone they both shared. Indeed, they both were pale enough that it was almost like they hadn't seen sunlight a day in their lives, though the woman seemed to be a bit less pale.

She was almost five-and-a-half feet in height and had long brown hair that reached waist and partially covered one of her green eyes, with painted red lips. She was also wearing a deep crimson Victorian style dress, with elbow-length gloves and a choker. She smiled at him when he sat down, but he could see that the smile was fake, practiced. Nor did it reach her eyes.

The male, on the other hand, was both tall and unnaturally thin, seeming to be nearly six in height with very long limbs. He also had brown hair, though shorter and darker in color, with gray eyes. He wore a black pinstripe suit with a white shirt and gray tie, as well as black wrist-length gloves. Like the woman, he also smiled, but his was even less genuine.

Once Slade was seated, the woman said "Wonderful. Now that everyone's here, we can begin eating."

The two of them each reached for the silverware, but Slade cleared his throat. "Forgive me for my rudeness, but I'm afraid I don't have time to spend on a meal. I'm here because I was told that you had a job request for me, Mister and Miss…" he said, deliberately trailing off.

The man blinked, and said "Oh, we haven't exchanged names? How rude of us. My name is Charles Du Mort, and this is my wife, Elena."

Elena inclined her head. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister…" she said, repeating his action.

For a moment, Slade was silent. It was obvious that they were requesting his real name, seeing as they had already previously addressed him by his professional name. But would he be willing to say it? To be honest, he had been contemplating for a while as to whether or not to drop the 'Deathstroke' title and simply have his enemies refer to him by his first name.

Deciding it wouldn't kill him, he minutely shrugged and said "Slade Wilson, Mr. and Mrs. Du Mort. Now, what is it that you want to hire me for?"

Elena chuckled, saying "Straight to business, I see." When he didn't respond, she said "Very well. My husband and I have been residents of Jump City for quiet some time. During that time, we've privately been manipulating events behind the scenes in order to turn the city into our vision of what we want it to be."

"Oh?" the mercenary asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Indeed. Keeping the size of law enforcement to a minimum—and making that minimum become progressively smaller—and doing the opposite with the crime. Ensuring that honest businesses end up on the dry end of the cash flow, while the ones willing to indulge in more… dubious... lines of work make more profit than ever. These are just a few of things we've been doing," Charles explained.

Elena added on, saying "Basically, our vision for Jump City is to turn it into a black hole of sin and depravity, one that will set the standard for all others. Even more so than Gotham."

Slade raised both eyebrows behind his mask. They wanted to make Jump more crime-filled and depraved than Gotham City? The poster city for crime and corruption? He had to give them points for ambition, in any case.

"Seems like you have this 'vision' of yours completely planned out. What do you need my help for?" he questioned.

At that, Charles sighed. "We need your help due to a recent and rather unexpected development. We chose to start with Jump City because it had no residential superheroes, vigilantes, et cetera. But now, a new group of heroes has recently shown up, a quintet of youngsters calling themselves the 'Teen Titans'."

"In just the short time they've been here, they've already begun lowering the crime by a significant portion, and people are starting to gain hope. They've even built a new symbol of hope for the city in the form of that tower they occupy in the middle of the bay."

Elena's face twisted in disgust. "At the rate they're going, those five children will undo decades of work that my husband and I put some much effort into. That's why we need you, Mr. Wilson. This group of heroes is unexpectedly strong, to the point that only a fighting force of your caliber will be able to destroy them," she said.

Slade hummed and sat back, considering. Taking on a group of superheroes was no small feat, even for someone like him. Defeating them would require time, resources, a base of operations, and many other things. All of which cost money.

"You're asking me to perform an extended mission involving the assassination of five public, high-profile targets. Something like that won't be cheap, especially by my standards."

Mr. Du Mort smiled that fake smile again and reached into his breast pocket. Pulling out a folded check, he placed it on the table, and then pushed it forward. The piece of paper slid across the table, stopping right within Slade's reach. The professional killer quickly picked it up and unfolded it. However, save for Charles's signature, there was nothing written on it.

It was a blank check.

Slade quickly looked up at the couple with a wide eye, understanding the gesture instantly. And Elena confirmed it, saying "When it comes to money, we have no short supply, even by your standards. As long as you do everything in your power to rid Jump City of the Teen Titans, you can name whatever price you wish."

He looked back and forth between them and the check. This was the first time a client was letting him have total control over his price. They weren't even trying to negotiate for something relatively small. If he wanted, this job could quite literally set him up for life. He'd be a fool not to accept.

However, as tempting as the offer was, he still one question to ask. "And what's to stop me from taking the money and then betraying you?"

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Besides our trust in your solemn word?" he asked jokingly. When Slade gave him a flat stare in return, he smiled. "Well, even if you decided to expose us, no prison could hold my wife and I indefinitely, no matter how hard or for how long they tried."

Then his smile, along with all semblance of kindness, vanished. "Same goes for if you try to kill us."

Slade tensed. "…Is that so?" he asked.

Elena nodded, removing her gloves. "Very much so. No matter how much effort you put into it, my husband and I will not be killed. Not by you, or anyone else," she stated seriously.

In an instant, the sidearm trapped to Slade's left leg made its way into his hand, and he pointed it at them. "Not even if I were shoot you here and now?" he challenged.

As one, the couple both nodded, and Slade's eye narrowed even further. There was a tense moment of silence between them. Slade debated whether or not to shoot a pair of lunatics with delusions of invulnerability, even if they were offering him any amount of money for this job. Mr. and Mrs. Du Mort, on the other hand, simply waited to see if he would follow through on his threat.

However, after almost half a minute had passed by with no change, Charles abruptly sighed and stood up. Slade focused the gun on him, but if it worried him, he gave no indication of it. Rather, the man said "Perhaps it would be easier if we just showed you. Actions do speak louder than words, after all."

With that, he stepped behind his wife and placed his hands on her shoulders. Then, faster than Slade could react, he reached up, gripped the upper and lower sides of her head, and twisted.

A loud snap filled the air, and Slade stared at the body of Elena Du Mort, her neck now thoroughly broken and her head twisted at an unnatural angle. Her eyes were also wide and appeared to be shocked, not having anticipated her husband to actually try to kill her. And Charles simply sat back down, acting as if nothing happened.

Before Slade could say or do anything, however, Elena's arm suddenly shot out and stabbed her husband in the chest. She blinked, and her expression became annoyed. Then she pulled and, with a sickening squelch, she literally ripped his heart out of his chest.

Likewise, Charles also had an expression of shock, before it quickly changed into one of exasperation. "Really, dear? You could have just snapped my neck like I did yours. Now my suit is ruined, and this was one of my favorites," he complained, looking down as blood quickly began soaking into the fabric.

Placing his heart on the plate in front of her, Elena reached up and twisted her neck back into place with another snap. "And I told you before that I don't enjoy having my neck broken. Everything appears upside-down when that happens, and the disorientation annoys me," she countered frankly.

Charles conceded the point with a bow of his head, before looking at Slade. By now, the gun had already fallen out of his hand in shock, and he simply stared at the both of them.

What he had just witnessed should not have been possible, for several reasons. First off, a normal human like Charles should not have been able to generate the torque needed to break a human neck just by twisting it. Second, after having her neck broken, Elena should definitely not have been able to move, much less strike her husband with enough force to pierce skin, muscle and bone before pulling one of his organs out. And after losing his heart, Charles should have been dead. But instead, he was simply irritated, as if someone has scuffed his shoes.

All in all, the vivid and grotesque display they just put on for him shouldn't have happened at all. Which, in turn, led him to ask, "Just what the hell are you two?"

The Du Morts looked at each other for a moment, communicating silently. Then, Elena answered "The two of us were humans at one point in time, long ago. However, since then, we've changed into something both less… and more. And that change came with an immunity to death."

Charles nodded. "But that is not the issue at hand. Now that we've demonstrated why we're confident that you won't betray us, will you accept our job request?" he questioned.

Slade was silent. It was one thing to be strong enough to avoid being injured. Superman literally took bullets to chest an almost a daily basis. The Martian Manhunter could turn himself intangible and let attacks pass through him. Even the Flash could simply use his speed and outrun or dodge most hits. But it was an entire other thing to take a hit, being heavily injured, and not even blink. Even Slade himself, for all the enhancements he possessed, couldn't just shrug off injuries of the extent these two could.

And that thought, that turning on them would only end in failure, was what solidified his decision. "Very well. I accept," he said.

As one, both Elena and Charles smiled, and Slade couldn't help but note that, this time around, the smiles were real. "Splendid! You don't know how glad we are to hear that," Elena said.

Charles stood back up, saying "And as a gesture of good will, we'll even help by giving you a working minion."

Slade grunted and was about to say that he didn't need a 'minion', but then Charles walked over and stood in front of an open section of the warehouse. Reaching into the hole in his chest, he moved his hand around inside and let it get covered in blood, before he then pulled it back out and let it begin dripping onto the concrete.

Sensing his confusion, Elena elaborated "Along with our being incapable of dying, my husband and I possess other certain abilities. One of these being that, when we let our blood come into contact with any other material, we can choose to use that material to create life."

Sure enough, after Charles wiped as much of his blood as he could against the concrete, the blood began to sink into it as it were water. Once it was all gone, the entire warehouse started shaking. Several cracks appeared in the concrete, and Charles took a few steps back.

Then, Slade heard a muffled shout, and a massive arm made of concrete out of the ground. That arm was followed a shoulder, and then a head and torso. In moments, a giant monster made entirely out of concrete had emerged. It opened its red eyes and slowly looked upwards... before unleashing a fiendish roar towards the heavens.

Satisfied with his work, Charles looked back at Slade. "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking of calling him 'Cinderblock'."

And that ends this plot bunny. I may expand on this one in the distant future, but the chances of it are not very likely. In any case, tell me what you thought, and I hope you enjoyed it.

Please review! If you flame me then Bruce Lee will smash you with his nunchaku. (I'm just kidding... or am I?)