Deathstroke: Year One
Part One
By JoeyJoell
2013-Cadmus Base, Washington
Amanda Waller sits, her back hunched, her eyes bloodshot. She sits behind a large computer with an oversized screen that towers over the woman herself. Cardboard cups of coffee pile onto each other in the bin next to her, while she sips at another that will soon be a part of that club. Waller seems to be deleting files, or at least classifying them, trying to do it quickly, before anyone gets the chance to look at them. A man, bald, approaches her, he wears a grey suit, a red tie and his hands are in his pockets.
Man: Working late?
Waller: You know what I'm doing, Luthor.
Luthor: The old man's dirty work.
Waller: President's orders.
Luthor: Isn't it always?
Waller: There are things that only we can know about.
The screen pulls up a file, a large photo covers the right corner of the screen. He has black hair, stubble covers his chin and there's a scar around the left side of his face. On the right side of the screen, there's lettering that reads, "Slade Wilson" and "Status-Deceased". They both pause for a second, Waller blinking and reaching for the mouse. Deleted.
Luthor: Wouldn't want anyone finding out about him, would we?
Meanwhile-An unknown location in Australia
Miles away, on the other side of the Earth, the other side of the hemisphere sits a white haired man in a massive office. He wears an eye patch, a black suit and pink shirt, with a black tie. A greying goatee and moustache covers his chin and the skin between his nose and mouth, with scars surrounding the space around his eye patch. He's constantly receiving emails, smiling maniacally as the "You've got mail" sound repeatedly rings. The sound of Waller and Luthor's conversation is let out through the computer, as well as footage from a surveillance camera in that very room.
July 1993- Operation Gothic Serpent-Somalia
Armed soldiers surround the perimeter of a Somali National Alliance Base. It's a particularly hot day, the sun creating a blinding light than shoots from the sand and into the eyes. Marching, the soldiers inspect every corner, every reach of the burning base, their heavy clothing causing for sweat to pour from their bodies, the black ski masks absorbing heat. A thud is heard as a masked man in sleek armour drops, entering the base, another man after him wearing the same exact clothing. Black is the main colour of their body armour, with silver and yellow bullets strapped across their chest and a yellow and blue mask covering their face. They land at an empty corner, one of them instantly creeping to walk around it. One of them pulls the other one back.
Masked man: Wintergreen.
He points at a security camera eyeing the very space Wintergreen was about to walk on, Wintergreen nods, heading to the camera and carefully planting a lense on top of the other. A thumb is poked along, signing that they can walk past, the other masked man leading as Wintergreen follows behind. Eventually, they find a place to hide, Wintergreen pulling out a radar system.
Wintergreen: So, if we go... there (points) we'll be able to sneak past without any guards finding us.
Masked Man: No, they stalk the perimeter using the molecule pattern, they keep moving, no-one has a specific post, we need to wait for them to go past it at least twice, then they won't be back for a while.
Wintergreen: Alright, let's do it.
They draw their knives and they clash together, both whisperingly cheering.
Both: For freedom.
Heading out of the den, they sneak through the base, passing the Somali soldiers, trying not to be detected. In their path, stands a Soldier, not moving, guarding his post. The other masked man drags Wintergreen back, as he notices the man turning around, almost staring right at him. Blowing wind is felt at the masked man's leg, causing for him to notice a large, man-sized air-vent.
Masked Man: Stand by.
The Masked Man lifts the grate, entering the air-vent and crawling through, reaching another grate that stands in the wall just behind the soldier in their path. Swiftly, the masked man slides through the grate, out onto the other side, grabbing the soldier's neck and slitting his throat. He signs to Wintergreen, who in reaction heads to him while the masked man stuffs the body in the air-vent. An entrance to the lower section stands in front of them, however, they both inspect the area for cameras or soldiers, never not careful.
Wintergreen: Clear.
Masked Man: Y'sure?
Wintergreen: What d'you think, asshole?
Masked Man: Clear.
Slowly, Wintergreen opens the door, a quiet creek heard as he does, the masked man watching their back like a crow. A red tint covers the interior of the base, while five soldiers stand in the first room, unarmed but for their knives that are strapped to their legs. It seems to be a restroom, all talking and laughing in a foreign language. Thud. Wintergreen throws a smoke-grenade that instantly explodes and gas rises in the room within a second, all of the soldiers coughing. Wintergreen enters the smoke, pointing his silenced pistol and shooting some of the soldiers while the masked man sneaks through the room, killing them all silently with his knife. Once the smoke falls, the two agents are surrounded by bodies in an even redder room, red with the blood of the enemy. The masked man looks to the top right corner, a camera is seen, staring right at him.
Masked Man: Shit. Wintergreen.
Wintergreen shoots out the camera, it exploding as the bullet enters the lense.
Masked Man: They'll be setting off the alarm now. Five seconds and this place will be pouring with soldiers.
The masked man sprints to the next door, kicking it wide open, the door flying as he does. Charging, they run right into a corridor with two soldiers, Wintergreen shooting the first point blank in the head and the masked man leaping into the air and drop kicking the other, stabbing him while he's on the floor. They keep running, turning around a corner and roundhouse kicking another guard, Wintergreen shooting him in the head while he's unconscious. A sign lies on the wall, both unusually written in Russian, Wintergreen taking notice of this.
Wintergreen: Russian?
Masked Man: This was an attack centre ready for use during the heated moments of the Cold War. Once it ended, it was left abandoned, only recently have the Somalian Alliance found it.
Wintergreen: Well, that explains the nukes.
There are two doors in their way, they both take separate paths, searching for the right room. Slam. Slam. Both doors are kicked open, they're empty, they both search. Wintergreen enters a control room, it has the same reddish tint as the first room, and it peers off a large cliff-like area, with missiles lying below it like needles.
Wintergreen: I've found it!
The masked man comes rushing into the room, bending over the control panel and removing his mask. Slade Wilson. He looks less bruised and beaten than in his photograph, no scars around the left side of his face. Wintergreen also removes his mask and they both high-five. Screech. Slade pulls out his radio.
Slade: Your dad is gonna be proud.
Wintergreen smiles, Slade smiles back.
Slade: This is Team HIVE, Operation Gothic Serpent, Slade Wilson, do you read, General Lane?
Lane: I read, Wilson.
Slade: We have located the nuclear missiles and we are ready to de-activate them.
Lane: Set coordinates to 34500-89658.
Clicking is heard as Wintergreen types into a computer, a map appearing on the small screen, a red dot appearing on Mogadishu.
Slade: Sir, that's...
Lane: I know where it is, Wilson.
Slade: What about the innocents in that city...?
Lane: We have one chance to smoke Aidid and most of those bastards out, you are our chance.
Slade: We're supposed to be saving these people and you want to wipe half of them out!?
Lane: Wintergreen?
Wintergreen: Yes, sir?
Lane: Fire the missiles on my count.
Wintergreen: Yes, sir.
Slade: Wintergreen, don't do this.
Lane: 5.
Wintergreen: You heard the man, it's our only chance to kill that son of a bitch.
Lane: 4.
Slade: At the cost of the lives of thousands, potentially millions. I can't let you press that button, Billy.
Lane: 3.
Wintergreen: If we don't do this now, think of how bad it's going to get, Wilson.
Lane: 2.
Slade: Think of how bad it's going to get if we do do this.
Lane: 1.
Wintergreen: For freedom, Slade.
Lane: FIRE.
A large sound of combustion and impact is heard, a certain smell of gunpowder and gas. Life disappears from Wintergreen's eyes as a rounded piece of lead fights its way through the very front of his skull, giving him a third eye that drips a red liquid. Silence. Slade suddenly finds himself pointing a gun at his friend's head, smoke rising from the barrel. Finally, after the seconds that felt like minutes, Wintergreen's stiff, cold body drops to the floor, a red substance leaking from the back of his head.
Lane: Slade...what have you done?
Slade: Wintergreen is down. Repeat... Wintergreen is down.
1999-A Cadmus Lab-An unknown location in Australia
Darkness, but then light, light that transforms itself into blinding light. Light burns Slade Wilson's eyes to the extent that he has to hold his eyes over them, a bag had just been removed from his head, revealing his face. It's beaten up, bloody, his hair has started to grey a bit, a small goatee starting to grow on the edge of his chin, while cuts are around most of his face. He sits on the edge of a steel table in an interrogation room, chrome walls surround him as he's cuffed around his wrists and ankles. An overweight woman stands across from him, while an armed guard stands watching the door, his back leaned against it.
Slade: Waller... wow... you've really let yourself go.
Waller: It took a lot of effort to find you, Slade.
Slade: I'm surprised it took so long. How long has it been, six years?
Waller: You're a hard man to track, Wilson. You've been all over the globe, as a hired gun.
Slade: I prefer swords, myself.
Waller: Do you think this is a joke, Wilson?
Slade: I think it's funny that you're so stuck up you'd kill a man for saving thousands of lives.
Waller: ...and damning the lives of thousands of others. Do you know how many innocent people died after you refused to fire those nukes?
Slade: Do you know how many innocent people would have died if I had let Wintergreen fire those nukes? Thousands, maybe millions. You'd kill a man for that?
Waller: No, not KILL.
Slade: Then what?
Waller throws a file onto the desk, upright, it reads, "Deathstroke serum".
Slade: I'm not taking that suicide serum.
Waller: I'm giving you a chance, here, Wilson.
Slade: Why?
Waller: Because I'm the only one here that thinks you're a good man.
Slade: Bring in the bad cop, Waller. You're boring me.
Waller: As you wish.
Waller exits the room, furious to enter a large prison-like corridor with the same chrome walls as the interrogation room. Standing against the wall is General Sam Lane, his hair white, shaven, his face aged, scars running down the side of his face and in a green military suit, awards showered on his jacket.
Waller: He's not buying it, sir.
Lane: I'll get some sense into him.
Waller: Are you going to tell him?
Lane: Not exactly.
Lane enters the room to find Slade scowling at him, his face furious with anger.
Lane: Wilson.
Slade: Lane.
Lane: You have been charged with 256 charges of murder, including Agent William Wintergreen and high treason. This is punishable by the death sentence.
Slade: Then give me the death sentence.
Lane: You have a wife, don't you? Adeline. Adeline Wilson. A son too? What's his name? Grant? Now, we're ready to pump the Deathstroke serum into Grant if you don't take it for him. Oh, and, Adeline is pregnant isn't she? A little baby boy. Another soldier to recruit.
Slade launches into the air, his cuffed ankles landing him to the floor, hitting his head on the table on the way there.
Slade: Nyrargh! I'll kill you for this, Lane.
Lane: So, is that a yes?
Slade: ...yes.
TO BE CONTINUED.