Deathstroke looked at the young man he'd trained for the last two years. "Remember the objective," he reminded the other.

Shadow gave the older man an incredulous look. "As if I'd forget," he snapped hotly. "We've been planning this night for the past two months. Besides, there's always plan B if A fails-"

"It won't" Deathstroke interrupted. "Green Arrow has been carefully watching these men for quite some time. My calculations show that he's planning on attacking tonight. Ryan Chase is our top priority tonight."

Without supplying an answer, Shadow glanced once more at the abandoned building a mile from the city. One lone light was barely visible from a window that was slightly uncovered window. Beside from that, the area surrounding the small building was completely dark and promising danger and harm to any unlucky soul that were to stumble across the meeting taking place inside. Behind the two mercenaries was the city in which Oliver Queen resided. It was no secret to Deathstroke-who hated Green Arrow more than anything-who his greatest enemy was. In fact, the older mercenary didn't ask of Shadow to reveal any of the superhero's secret identities. Neither had the Light-yet. When he asked about it, Deathstroke simply stated that it was more fun for him to figure it out himself than to be told. The last time that Shadow had witnessed a man give Deathstroke unwanted information was the last mission they'd gone on together. That male had found a bullet between his eyes faster than his brain could have even processed the infuriated look sprawling across Deathstroke's face.

Out of the corner of his eye Shadow, who was donned in his black uniform completed with a mask this time rather than a necklace that changed his appearance, saw Deathstroke clench his hand into a fist. It was his way of saying, 'move out.'

The two moved faster than should be possible, both wanting to ensure that their job was finished long before Green Arrow arrived. They'd need the pests out of the way so that they had plenty of time to work.

Deathstroke stepped back and away from the door to let Shadow break it open; the young male was turning into quite the thief and right here and now was Deathstroke's chance to see that. He was, after all, the man training the young assassin.

Shadow took a good, long look at the doorknob. When he listened close enough he could just make out the sounds of unintelligible shouts coming from somewhere inside the house-presumably the basement. How cliché. At least that meant that there could only be so many guards on the upper floor. Shadow's ear pricked and he turned his head to look at an upper corner of the house. He squinted his eyes. Deathstroke, sensing that his apprentice wasn't just looking at the house for the sake of looking at it, followed the young male's gaze, his own eyes narrowing in anger. He stalked away to disable the camera. He'd watch his apprentice some other time.

The more experienced mercenary darted along the side of the building while being sure that the orange side of his mask was pressed against the wall. He didn't need a guard potentially seeing him. That is, even if there was one. As trained and advanced as he was, Deathstroke was not a meta and simply could not tell if there were any guards inside at all. He nearly scoffed at himself. Shadow's enhanced 'bat paranoia,' as he'd called it, that had never gone away from his time with the bat seemed to be rubbing off onto Deathstroke. He'd prefer to not be anything like Batman. Neither did Shadow. It was something both men had agreed to when a newly reincarnated Dick Grayson had stumbled upon him and demanded he train him to be a killer.

Justice was flawed. Who was mankind to decide what was right and what was wrong? Someone with no flaws at all should've been the one to decide and yet here humanity was. Flawed, disgraced, outrageous. Everyone makes mistakes. In the past, present and most certainly in the future. Who did the Justice League and their team of pathetic sidekicks think they were to decide if a man or woman was guilty of doing something bad. Everyone sees thing differently, after all.

Deathstroke pulled out his electric gun and fired it up at the camera. Blue electricity shot out and disabled the camera, even going so far as to knock it off where it'd been and to the ground.

He turned back towards his apprentice to find the young man staring at him with an impatient look. The door was opened just the slightest bit so that a thin trail of light leaked out and exposed part of the dark night behind.

Deathstroke slipped into the house and checked out the surroundings before signaling for Shadow to follow. They were in a living room by the looks of it. A small television sat on a table in the middle of the room, facing the two men. Directly to their left was the couch. Dust covered both pieces of furnature and a noticeable curve on one of the cushions showed the owner's favorite spot to sit. A hallway was at the end of the room and from what both men could see, a door at the end was opened.

Shadow tapped Deathstroke on the shoulder and the older man turned. The assassin-in-training nodded toward the door at the end of the hallway before tipping his head to the side. Deathstroke nodded.

Crouching down to minimize the amount of sound that would echo off the floor from their feet, the duo crept forward toward the opened door at the end of the hallway. Shadow had just reached the entrance to the corridor when a toilet flushed and both men jerked backward and pressed themselves against the wall on either side of the entrance.

A whistle carried down the hallway and slowly became louder. The sound of shoes slapping on floor echoed down to the assassins' ears. Deathstroke nodded at Shadow, who crouched down and practically smashed himself against his wall to disappear from Deathstroke's vision.

The man, who could've been no older than thirty, made his appearance. An automatic gun rested against his shoulder and a bored look was on his face. He caught sight of Deathstroke after five seconds and opened his mouth to give out an alarm, the gun falling into both hands as he prepared to shoot. He never got the chance.

Shadow shot out from the dark and wrapped an arm around the male's throat, cutting off his air supply while Deathstroke disarmed him and unloaded the firearm.

Shadow crouched down so that the guard's back was painfully bent against Shadow's. In one solid movement Shadow jerked the arm that held the guard's neck. A quiet snap signified that the man was dead and Shadow carefully leaned back to rest the dead male on the ground without making a noise.

He stood and leaned back to crack his back, taking careful notice of the way Deathstroke observed the body. Deathstroke looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, questioning why he took so long in the kill. Shadow shrugged and stepped toward the hallway.

There were no more guards. After checking the whole house but the basement for one, It took a full minute for the two assassins to find the door leading to the basement. It hadn't even been in the hallway. Just a door in a room that had once been the kitchen.

Both mercenaries had their guns pulled, ready to kill the mobsters, but they weren't in the room. There was another door in which all the other men were in. Coneniently there was a vent in the wall above and to the left of the yellow brick road.

Again, Shadow thought in his boredom, so cliché. To be completely honest, Shadow had almost put a bullet through his skull at their luck. And to put even more salt into the wound, Deathstroke told him to wait five minutes before following through the vent.

Shadow withheld a groan and sat back against the wall. A pistol rested loosely in his hand and a few knives that were cleverly hidden into his uniform dug uncomfortably into his sides. But he didn't care. It felt good to actually feel something again. He'd blocked away emotions like happiness and all those other fun and nice ones to prevent himself from getting attached to anything long ago. That left only anger and broodiness. Not the broodiness like Batman, of course. Shadow couldn't stand the guy. Anything he'd once felt towards his first mentor had turned to hatred. And his confession to Black Canary ages ago still stood. Sure, he might have the attitude of Batman, but he was no Batman. He killed. Batman didn't. He didn't feel anything but negativity. Batman did, as much as the man may try to deny it. He was willing to-

Enough about Batman-

What would he think of Shadow today? Would he be sad? Disappointed? Angry? Probably all three. After all, Shadow was a dead man walking. After all, he was the Batman's greatest failure and-

Shadow tore his glove off and bit his hand hard enough to draw a thin line of blood to distract himself from those thoughts. He had more important things to think about. Oh yeah. Back to the not feeling anything lately.

Pain was the hardest thing that he'd worked on to eliminate. Pain meant weaknes. Pain represented the lack of strength required to do what is necessary to succeed. He'd spent six months working on getting rid of that nuisance. Now he only felt a small flicker of the unwanted feeling. But even then it depended on how hard the blow was or if he'd been caught in the lucky spot. Well, actually spots. There were two, but it was extremely hard for him to be hit there.

He owed those thanks to Joker. He'd do that next time they met face-to-face. When Joker was the person on the ground with a busted open head and a flail chest. Both thanks to that damn steel pole he'd used at the end of their playtime, as he'd put it. The twisted clown had called it playtime.

Shadow had to be hit right on the areas where those fatal blows had fallen for him to feel pure agony. He didn't know why, but those two strikes had caused enough damage to travel with him back to Earth when he'd been resurrected. In fact, his skin was permanently disfigured so that the once flawless skin was slightly purplish and black at the center. So faintly there that only someone who knew to specifically look for it could see it.

Shadow tasted copper in his mouth and removed his hand, watching it in fixation fascination. It was obvious where he'd bitten. Not only because of the red outline of his blood, but also because the indentations of his teeth had torn through the skin so that it left an imprint. "Huh." He'd never bitten that hard before…

He held back a sigh. Deathstroke had been irritated with him for a while now-in fact, ever since his failed mission with Kaldur one month ago-and he didn't know why. The older man had a much shorter temper with him and often didn't him have his usual Sundays off. Those were the only days of the week where he could train if he wanted, though it wasn't required. He could sit back and relax. He wasn't even forced to go out on assignments if Deathstroke signed the contract for one. He'd just go on his own.

So what if he'd take a very small pause during his training to talk to one of the other assassins? They were just swapping ideas and suggestions. Deathstroke did have Shadow in training to fight and be able to switch from one style, such as acrobatic avoiding, to street brawler attacks in a heartbeat. It couldn't possibly hurt him that much to learn from the other shadows, right?

Ever since he'd come back from the dead he'd wondered what it was like to die a slow death. What it felt like in those last few moments. Did the person really see the light flashing before their eyes? Was it a few moments of utter terror? Did they feel pain? Or was it sudden acceptance, feeling completely numb and preparing for the inevitable? Did your vision turn white? Or did everything just slip to oblivion? Obviously he'd died before. But from the blunt trauma to his skull, he hardly remembered anything after that. All he remembered was the strike that had completely shattered his ribcage. Next thing he remembered he was lifting himself out of Ra's Al Ghul's lazarus pit. He didn't remember and he certainly didn't plan on finding out anytime soon.

Shadow suddenly bolted up. He leaned forward and strained his ears to listen for the noise again. He looked down at his timer. It read zero minutes and ten seconds. Shadow shrugged. He guess he just imagined someone that sounded eerily like his father calling his real name from afar.

Showtime.

"So you're telling me that we have no product out on the streets?" Ryan asked agitatedly. The other men sitting at the table around him remained silent, too afraid to answer. While staying quiet would just piss Victor off, they all knew that actually speaking confirming his question would just piss him off even more. Staying quiet was the much better idea.

A tall, bulky man sat t the head of the table, giving the men a look that promised their deaths if they didn't answer. "Yes," A man to his right said quietly and hesitantly. He was bald with brown stubble showing that he hadn't shaved that morning. He was Ryan's main man. The man that sold the most product and had worked for Ryan the longest. The man sat next to Ryan Chase. One of the biggest crime bosses in all of Star City. Ryan's enforcer, the man that kept all the employees in line, sat to his left. The other men were the most important people to him. The providers. They sold the product and gave him the money. Everyone sat stiff, on the verge of peeing themselves as they waited for him to say something.

"And why is that so?" he asked in a deathly quiet voice. How was it that no one was buying the drugs? They were laced with numerous chemicals from labs that the men all worked in. Those chemicals were supposed to keep working and keep the customers returning for more. Things had been running so smoothly for the past few months. How was it now that everything was crashing down? What was the massive fuck up? Ryan didn't tolerate mistakes and if someone didn't answer for his financial losses, the police will have a nice day tomorrow cleaning brain matter from the walls and organs off the floor.

It was at that moment that one of the light bulbs decided to blow, dimming the entire room. The room contained no windows and the few bulbs that were still lit above the table illuminated the room in a way that casted shadows upon all the men's faces. Somehow it made them look even more threatening. Especially Ryan. His face was screwed up into an inhuman snarl, his teeth bared to exposed pearly white teeth. His eyes were narrowed into a full on glare and his shoulders were tensed, his hands curled into fists as he leaned against the table. The house had been put up for sale years ago after the owner died, but no one had bought it. It'd been abandoned ever since. A single vent that was once used to help air flow through all the rooms in the basement was the only other thing beside the door that could be a potential escape. That made the house a perfect spot for criminals to meet.

One man few seats down spoke. "A few of my customers have been arrested. I don't know why they've only now been. Maybe Green Arrow has figured out what we've been doing-" he cut himself off at the murderous glare that'd been sent his way.

"Well then go find out why, you pathetic piece of shit!" Ryan shouted, his breath loud and short, any patience that he'd previously had gone. No one dared to breath, too afraid of the sudden rage that had previously been hidden. A small line of spit dribbled down his mouth, his face bright red from his anger. He looked the others in the eyes. "Is this true for the rest of you?!" They shook their heads no. "Then why the hell am I getting less money from the rest of you?"

"Sir, half of my customers have been found dead. My cookers are all dead, sir. And… the rest of the drugs are missing," another man spoke up. Ryan's glare swiveled to him.

"And the rest of the drugs?! Where are they?" He shouted at the others. A vein throbbed in his neck. He was extremely frustrated with this new development. It'd take years to build up another drug empire like the one he had today. Years of hard work down the drain. Not only would he now need new cooks, but he'd also need to re-establish himself with new street dealers. This would most certainly take months, if not years to get back, and he was not happy in the slightest.

"Gone." The same man spoke. He gestured to the others. "When we got there, it was gone. All of it the recipes… everything. As if it'd been stolen. Or a hero confiscated us. He might know, boss."

Ryan put his head in his hands. "So everything is gone. Is that correct?" he asked, requesting confirmation. "So what the fuck happened?"

"I already told you what I think. A damn good team has taken us down in one swoop. If it's not the work of a hero, then it's the work of someone trying to take over the territory." He paused to make sure he had everyone's attention. "As I said, half of my customers are dead. A clean bullet took each one out. Some were through the neck. Others… they went down with a bullet straight through the heart while they were running. And we all know that the superheroes don't kill."

Ryan considered his explanation carefully. What was this? Was it a vigilante or another crime boss trying to take over his territory? Did they want to see him dead or did they just want a stop to his drug selling? Regardless, this was a threat to his life. He'd grown up selling drugs. It was what his father taught him to do. His father passed down the legacy over to him. And he was not about to fail him.

"I think we're dealing with a competitor," he said after a moment, his voice smooth like honey. "You're right. The heroes don't kill. No matter what, they try their damnest not to. You mentioned the runners being struck through the heart? Maybe they hired someone. An assassin to do at their command. And this… competitor wants my territory for his own. He's a fool. He probably hired Deathstroke the Terminator to do his bidding. Though this has nothing to do with him, he probably agreed to it to get the money. Find him and kill him. I want his head on a spike so I can mount it on my wall. You," he gestured to one of the men. "Go find me some new cooks. We'll need new ones and fast."

The man he'd pointed to scrunched up his face. "Deathstroke? What's he got to do with this? I thought he was back with that Al Ghul guy. Training that new assassin kid of his."

Ryan's eyebrow raised. "Deathstroke has a kid? Ha! That's one for the ages. Kill them both."

"Sir, perhaps we should hire a man of our own to take care of Deathstroke?"

"Who?"

"Deadshot. He's the greatest shooter in, well, the world. No one can beat him. Not even Deathstroke."

"Good," Ryan smiled. "Find him. Hire him. Shut that piece of shit down. Am I clear? Take care of this or I'll take care of you." All the men nodded. Ryan didn't become the boss of almost all organized crime in Star City for a reason. Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, my wife and I have plans for this evening. I expect reports tomorrow and I expect them to be outstanding. And hire more cooks," he said as he stood up. The chair squeaked as it slid against the floor. Ryan's main man followed him. The others remained sitting.

"I can get a hold of Deadshot," he informed Ryan. "Some of the guys I used to work for hired him once. The only question I need to know is how." He leaned forward and went to turn the doorknob. It was locked. "What the hell?" he questioned, confused.

"I have a few suggestions on how you can get a hold of him." A new voice spoke. Ryan whipped around to see who had spoken. Everyone was looking at the other as though asking if they'd spoken. They turned in sync and shrugged at Ryan, signifying they had not. Ryan narrowed his eyes, taking in the information. He then pulled out a gun and aimed it in the general direction of where he'd heard the voice. He hated that he couldn't see the walls. "There's no need for that."

Instantaneously, six automatic guns were taken out and fired. The room filled with the harsh, loud noise of the guns releasing bullets. Little sparks of light flashed from the muzzles before the lights slowly dwindled down to none. They'd run out of bullets. They looked at each other, wondering if they'd killed the intruder. A knife pounced out from the corner opposite of where they'd shot and embedded itself into the throat of Ryan's main man. Hot, reeking blood spurted out from the wound and he gurgled for a second before sliding ungracefully to the floor. Ryan's face, now stained red from flecks of blood that'd shot out was now twisted into one of rage and fear.

"Show yourself you coward!" the man snarled in a voice seething in rage. The room stood at a standstill. A black blur shot out from the shadows and wrapped an arm around a man's neck. It withdrew a heartbeat later and even more blood splattered over the room. The man who'd just been murdered fell face first on the table. A red pool quickly formed and a little waterfall ran down the side. An involuntary shudder forced its way through Ryan's body.

A new voice spoke. This voice was younger, much younger than the previous one and all the ones in the room. "Ah, but if I did that, I'd have to kill you." Ryan allowed his anger to take control. He let out a shout of rage and spit flew from his mouth. How dare this man come and ruin everything he'd created?!

"Try me," Ryan found himself challenging before blinking dumbly at himself. Had he really just said that? Ryan had always been the type of guy who'd hide behind others and watch them do the dirty work before claiming the credit. He couldn't believe he'd just allowed two men dictate the rules of the game. "On one condition, of course," he added in an attempt to salvage the situation. Two more men dropped to the floor, dead. From what Ryan had no clue, nor did he probably want to. But that also meant that he only had two men left.

A shadow removed itself from the darkness. The man was shorter than Ryan. Shorter than all the others in the room, in fact. Ebony black hair was just long enough to touch the white of the lenses he wore on his mask. One long, sharp blade was visible from a holster on the male's waist and a sword was strapped to his back. There were a few more black pockets around his thighs that held who-knew-what in them. Black gloves with orange tips showed two empty syringes with a small speck of red of the tip of each needle.

"Okay, I'm listening." His voice was devoid of all emotion. This startled Ryan. No one should ever sound like that. Everyone felt some emotion and it was always noticeable in the way they talked. But this… there was just nothing. It was pure monotone and that terrified Ryan. There'd only been one other person that he'd heard something like this before and that was his brother. His brother had been jealous of Ryan his whole life and after their mother died and their father began showing clear favoritism toward Ryan, his brother had just shut himself off from the world. He'd just… snapped. Three weeks later, he, too, had been found dead in an alleyway at night.

Ryan's mouth went dry as he struggled to speak. It took him a few moments to recover but when he did, he was back to being the cool a composed crime boss he was. A smirk crossed his face. "I sent out an alarm to the police three minutes ago," he stated smugly. "They'll be here any minute now." He could tell the shadow raised an eyebrow based on the way the left lens lifted. "Gotham isn't the only city that has a corrupted police force," he crowed.

The blade that had been in the thigh holster was suddenly buried deep into the chest of another man. His fingers fluttered up to the wound in an attempt to remove the weapon. He stumbled backward and disappeared into the shadows. The thud of body against wall signified that he'd crashed against it.

Ryan took a step toward where the man had disappeared before stopping himself. "So the challenge is to try to kill you before the police arrive?" Ryan waited until he heard the distant sound of police sirens before nodding. A wicked grin crossed over the young assassin's face. "Challenge accepted." Ryan turned back to the door, only to find it open. He was pretty sure he was about to piss his pants but didn't give himself the chance. He didn't waste a second and took off, aiming to climb the stairs, leave the house and race off into the woods.

Deathstroke peeled himself out of the shadows like a snake and eliminated the final man that'd been left. He dipped his head to Shadow, eager to see what he did this time. It was always a thrill for Deathstroke whenever the boy killed. It was living proof that even heroes could become corrupted if pushed far enough. It was also a thrill because every time Shadow committed a horrible deed or helped the Light, he was going against everything that Batman had taught him.

Shadow charged off after Ryan, his quick, long strides allowing him to catch up quickly. He pulled out his sword and waited for the shape of the other man to become bigger. He launched the sword from the bottom of the stairs and Ryan fell against the wall at the top. His hands shot to the wound. Had he really just been impaled? He turned around, groaning in agony as the blade slid further into his body, the skin being torn open or muscles forced apart to make room for the metal. The shadow was climbing the stairs.

"Who-Who are you?" he spluttered through clenched teeth. The assassin paused, seemingly to think carefully about his response. The police sirens grew louder still until they were nearly too loud to bear.

The shadow leaned down and grasped the handle of the sword with its left hand. "I am the thing that kept you from accomplishing your plans. I am the shadow assassin."

With that, the beast pulled back and ripped the sword from Ryan's abdomen. Everything burned from his feet up to his head and he rolled onto his back. Blood spilled down the edges of his mouth and he began to choke of some of it. Through his fuzzy vision, he mustered all his strength and glared at the savage, determined to show that he wasn't scared of death.

The beast let out an inhuman-like laugh. "You're trembling," the muddled voice taunted. Red seeped through the corners of Ryan's vision and he could only watch in hazy confusion as the beast pulled a gun from its hand.

Shadow pulled the trigger to the gun and tilted his head in mild fascination at the way brain matter and blood alike splattered the wall and floor. Deathstroke turned to look at his apprentice and smiled in delight at the way the young man was watching the deceased crime boss. His ears perked back and heard the sound of an arrow being notched back followed by its release from the bow. He turned and caught it, instantly throwing it right back at the owner of which it came from. While the dark shape dove to the side to avoid it, Deathstroke turned to his apprentice. "Take care of the policemen; I'll handle Green Arrow." Shadow nodded his head and Deathstroke charged at the vigilante. Both went sprawling to the floor before the two wrestled themselves out of the room, snarling words of hatred at each other the whole way.

That left Shadow to do away with the policemen. A whole group of four burst through the door in the kitchen at that moment with guns drawn and ready to fire. He carefully ducked into the shadows offered to him and melted away, carefully working his way to the group. The sounds of Green Arrow and Deathstroke fighting echoed throughout the whole house.

"Split up and search the house," the apparent leader of the group commanded. His mouth curled up in disgust as he regarded the dead body in front of him. "See if there are any survivors." Shadow felt his lips tug into a vicious smirk. Not today, officer… none today.

"Yes, sir," the others said in unison before heading down the hallway. They each split up at the separate doors. Shadow's gaze flitted back and forth between the leader just feet in front of him to the hallway where the others disappeared. He pressed himself further back into the shadows and patiently waited. It didn't take long for the leader to walk past the body and walk down the stairs.

Shadow peeled himself from the door and crouch-sprinted down the hallway. His ears perked up to hear them through the walls and was quick to determine that one was two doors down. Shadow disappeared behind the bathroom door just as the officer reappeared outside of his. The light from a flashlight briefly shone down Shadow's end of the hallway before it once more became dark. Shadow crept up behind the officer and grasp each side of his head between his hands. With a quick jerk and a loud snap, the body practically fell limply into Shadow's waiting arms. Another one exited the other room and Shadow quickly replicated what happened to the first.

That was when everything went wrong. The final officer out the leader turned the corner while Shadow was standing up from his crouched form of carefully placing the officer on the floor. Shadow hesitated for a brief second when he found himself staring at startlingly familiar green eyes and reddish hair. The freckles were there as well, including the suit of Kid Flash. But then it disappeared and he noticed the eyes were duller than Wally's and the hair was cut and carefully slicked back. Wally never did that. In his hesitation, the officer lifted the gun. Shadow's hand fell to his thigh and pulled out a shuriken. He brought his arm up and released his grasp. But it was too late. The officer had already taken aim and fired.

Both fell back simultaneously though the officer just completely crumpled to the ground, the shuriken sticking out of his forehead. Shadow stumbled back and blinked in his shock, his hands lifted and grazing over the wound. Had he really just been shot? How could he have let his guard down?! So what if he'd looked like Wally? He was over it. All of it. He didn't need the Team or the Justice League anymore. Hell, they certainly didn't need him. Besides, he'd worked on getting rid of any emotions he may have felt for them. He didn't notice comprehend that he'd fallen against the wall until he was down and on the ground until his head smacked against the floor.

He wondered how much time had passed. How long he'd spent standing there, too dumb-founded to do anything about it. If Deathstroke had heard the gunshot. If he was on his way. If he even cared. Vaguely, he recognized the sound of another gunshot as well as two screams. One of agony and the other of rage. He felt his eyebrows narrow as he tried to comprehend it all. Who was in pain? Who fired the gun? And had he himself screamed?

Everything started to turn into a white haze. He was faintly able to take notice that someone was shaking his shoulders and demand him to answer. Maybe it was Deathstroke. May he did care for hi-

Oh no. He can't die. Not here. Not now. He couldn't break his agreement that he'd made with Deathstroke when he initially became his apprentice. He didn't it. Oh no. everything was fading out to white. Vaguely, in the distance, an echo of a shout breached his muddled mind. He wanted to respond out of instinct and loyalty. He felt like he was betraying his mentor. Rough hands grabbed him beneath his shoulders and by the ankles, lifting him.

Huh. Well this is what it's like to die. Definitely not what he expected. It felt like the atoms making him up were shifting and everything turned white.

Deathstroke paused and allowed himself to take a devastating blow to his stomach. He stumbled back. He should not have heard a gun go off. Shadow wasn't a huge fan and would only use one if it were absolutely necessary. This would only be if there was an unexpected hero to arrive. Which shouldn't be true. Green Arrow may have had two sidekicks at one point, but both weren't even in the city at the moment. He grabbed the fist coming at him and drove his own into the other's stomach. He took off while Green Arrow was winded. Something wasn't right here. Shadow was too silent to be caught by an officer and even if he was, he was fast enough to take care of himself. This could only mean that he'd been caught off guard. This was not good. It wasn't going according to plan.

Green Arrow was hot on his heels. Deathstroke assessed the situation in a heartbeat. Shadow was laying on the ground with his hands over his chest. Crimson red somehow seemed to stand out against the black. Another officer was standing at the other end of the hallway with his gun raised, ready to take the life of the man who'd murdered his friends in cold blood. Deathstroke took out his gun and fired. The bullet aimed true and struck the officer in the gut. He fell back with a cry of agony.

Deathstroke leaned to the left to avoid having his head taken clean off by the man behind him. He sprung himself away and glared at his enemy. "That bullet is laced with poison," he warned, his voice eerily steady and calm despite his concern for the boy on the ground. "He has about five minutes. An ambulance won't get here in time. Either you go save him, or he dies and his blood is on your hands."

Green Arrow gave his nemesis a look of pure hatred "This isn't over," he warned before running down and grabbing the officer.

"No, it's not," the mercenary shouted after him. He glanced at his apprentice before sprinting over. "What have you gotten yourself into?" he demanded, removing the boy's hands to take a look at the wound. He placed his own overtop the boy's chest and pressed down in an attempt to halt the bleeding. Shadow didn't answer, which concerned Deathstroke. Shadow may not like him or anyone in the world, but he wasn't below answering when he was in obvious danger. "Answer me, dammit!" he shouted, angry at himself for being so concerned and determined to save him.

He didn't need Shadow, right? He'd been perfectly fine before Dick had found him and begged to be trained. Deathstroke ripped the mask of Shadow's face. Dick's eyes were distant and glazing over. It was obvious that he was having trouble just staying away. "SHADOW!" he roared, hoping that it would get some sort of response. When he still got none, Deathstroke pulled out a communicator from his pocket and called Ra's. "Get me a boom tube," he demanded when Ra's' hologram appeared, "And prepare the med bay!" Ra's opened his mouth to say something but Deathstroke cut him off. "We don't have time for questions. Just send someone!"

He turned his attention back to his apprentice. The boy's eyes were half-closed. "Don't you dare die on me! I'll keep the promise to bring you back only to kill you myself before leaving you dead!" He shouted. Then his voice lowered and almost became pleading. "I need you." Blue eyes shut entirely.

Ra's suddenly appeared from a circle of red and black. "Oh, my," he gasped when he caught sight of the boy. Without speaking, Ra's grabbed Dick's ankles while Deathstroke took him by the shoulders. They walked into the boom tube, a trail of liquid red following in their wake.

AN:Holy crap. 6,365 words. Do you all prefer the chapters being that long or do you long the ones that average 3,000? If you want around 5-6k, it'll certainly take me longer to come out with updates, but it'll be more action packed/more into depth on everything.

I hoped you enjoyed it!