"Laugh now but cry much later."

Chapter 5: Honourable Mistake.

"And I know how you hate to lose."

Underneath his mask, Slade grinned. The boy still believed that 'Apprentice' crap. Maybe, if the assassin trade ceased to be profitable, then a career on the stage could beckon. All he had to do was keep his thumb on this button for a few more seconds, and then his contract would be complete. It was almost too easy.

After another moment, he began to doubt this course of action. The Titans had proved to be worthy adversaries, far more powerful and resourceful than he could ever have expected, and now they were going to die.

Well, that was his job.

But the doubts grew. Slade had trapped his enemies, manipulated and deceived them to the extent that they didn't know up from down any more, and now they were all going to die.

And all Slade was doing was pushing a button. It was almost pathetic.

Deathstroke had never killed anyone with such ease. Even when he had accepted contracts on "civilian" targets- mob bosses, corrupt politicians, and so on- he had had a harder time than this. Superheroes had always been worthy of his blade, at least.

Deathstroke would never have killed them like this. Any opponents that had proved so resilient would have had the honour of a fair fight, at least. He remembered an old target, from about ten years ago. The man had been an expert in martial arts, and Deathstroke had done him the honour of fighting him unarmed. That fight had taught him a lot- such as the fact that playing possum works well against arrogant men. How much would he have learned if he had killed that one with the push of a button?

Slade frowned. His enemies were dying in front of him. His contract was seconds from completion. Why all this doubt?

Slade knew the reason why.

It was a question of honour.

As he stared at Robin- the opponent who had proven more dangerous than Slade could ever have guessed- he decided that the boy had earned a more dramatic end than ignobly dying like this.

And he was still standing, despite the incredible pain of his veins being slowly shredded. That, if nothing else, deserved respect.

And respect deserved honour.

With a sudden jerk, Deathstroke tore the device from his arm and threw it to the floor. Most of him was crying out that he was making a terrible mistake, quoting one of his maxims- 'Victors do not spurn opportunity'- but he didn't care in that moment. There would be another time. That he was sure of.

After all, it wasn't like he was going anywhere.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, this is the best explanation for an illogical action that crosses the boundary into just plain stupid when my sub-plot is taken into consideration. I realise I'm not doing much action in this story, but then again that's not the point. You all already know what Slade does in the show; I'm just trying to say why

Next up, the Apprentice, Mk II.