Warning: A lot of gratuitous violence and blood. Described imagery might be a little disturbing. There will be death, just check out the title of this chapter.

Kill the Suicide Squad

The key to fighting a long-distance fighter was to bring them in close. The bullet that was fired clipped his mask, but Deathstroke fired the grapple from his belt and snagged the sniper's leg. Before the cable could be shot at, the assassin retracted the line and dragged his enemy to him.

Deadshot tried to resist, but then used the pull to his advantage and launch himself at the dual-colored killer. That wrist-attached gun barrel fired shot after shot, Deathstroke crouching while shielding himself with an arm. Deadshot lashed out with a kicking leg, striking the blocking arm and pushing off against it.

The sniper was going into a flip, but he wasn't going to allow a stable landing. Grabbing the grappling cable with his free hand, Deathstroke yanked on it. Deadshot gave a grunt and stretched out his arms, his hands landing on the floor.

A booted foot struck the sniper's back, forcing the man to fall forward and onto his face. Raising a fist up, Deathstroke punched down, but his opponent rolled out of the way and only the floor knew his might.

Pushing himself up, Deadshot raised his arm up, but a blocking arm knocked his aim off so the shot that fired missed. Orange gloved hands grabbed the sniper and pulled, swinging him into a wall. Another grunt, but as his feet met with the floor, Deadshot lunged forward and tackled the masked killer, forcing the two of them into the section of the hallway covered in ice.

There was a second where both men fought to retain their balance, trying not to fall. Deadshot had to grip Deathstroke to accomplish that, and that move left him open. Deathstroke jabbed a fist into the sniper's chest, a second punch into the masked face followed by a third blow, and then an uppercut to the chin.

Deadshot began to fall back, but then he grabbed the grapple cable still wrapped around his leg and pulled. His boots did not gain traction and a slip occurred, one that had the silver and red killer sliding down and in between Deathstroke's legs. Knees bent and the sniper kicked them up and into the orange and black assassin's rear.

Orange gloved hands landed on rough ice, and it took effort not to let them slide. The inevitable happened and then his chest was colliding with the frozen water. A roll onto his back, his legs pulling up to his torso, and then kicking his legs out, he returned onto his feet which slid outwards in opposite directions. He did not fall, but this was not an optimal position.

Deadshot was back on his feet, and was aiming his wrist-mounted gun barrel at him. It was practically point blank, and only a reflexive whip of his arms had that weapon pointed up into the ceiling, a bullet lodging into the overhead surface.

An orange-gloved hand balled into a fist and then swing into a stomach. Rapidly he landed blow after blow into Deadshot's torso until the sniper caught one of his fists and jerked it to a side. Deadshot punched back, decking the dual-colored mask on its orange side and snapping the killer's head to the right. A hit landed to the side of his chest, but the armor he wore absorbed it easily. As a third punch came in, he caught it with the palm of his hand and clamped down with his fingers. He gave it a twist, and the sniper's wrist was not going to be happy with that.

A follow up strike to the throat. A countering elbow jabbed at his face. Blows were traded by each of them, most of them landing. Some were blocked, a few parried, but none ever truly dodged as the amount of movement needed could unbalance one of them and that would give the advantage to the other.

But Deathstroke landed the majority of the hits. Deadshot was slowing down, and with how frantic he was becoming, the sniper knew it as well. Multiple shots were fired, but due to how close they stood to one another, it was simple enough to push, jerk, or misdirect the direction that the wrist-mounted gun barrel was aimed. No ricochets because that would require careful aim and the dual-colored assassin would not allow that.

A risky kick to the leg was taken by Deadshot. The potential to mess it up was great as he would have to balance on one foot on a slick surface. The booted foot landed against the side of Deathstroke's knee, and that had the killer falling down into a crouch.

Instead of capitalizing, Deadshot retreated. He took a second to fire at the grapple cable that kept him close and severed it. It was a delay from shooting at Deathstroke, and the assassin would take advantage of that.

A throwing dagger was slipped out and thrown, the tip of the blade lodging into the gun barrel, clogging it. As Deadshot continued to back away, he held his arm up and used his free hand to grab at the dagger's handle to try and dislodge it. Deathstroke took this chance to lunge and he nearly tackled the sniper. The silver and red assassin, however, turned to his side, slipping out of the way while the orange and black assassin charged further down the hallway.

He reached where the ice finally ended, and by then the throwing dagger was no longer wedged into the wrist-mounted gun barrel. Not wanting to take the chance that that weapon was able to still fire, Deathstroke continued with his momentum and took the first turn, slipping out of sight.

There was a door ahead, opened ajar, and so he ran into it. This room was big, but not overwhelmingly so. A conference table took up a lot of the room, and at least two of the chairs were pulled out, as if someone had forgotten to push them back in. Other than that, there was no signs of life.

Making sure to not be in the doorway still, he used the wall alongside that conference room's entrance as cover. Alright, time to take stock both of the situation and what weaponry he still had on him. No doubt he was running low on everything, but best to make sure that he wasn't entirely empty.

Pausing, something occurred to him. The lights were on in here. An empty room. In Waller's fortress and base of operations. For a woman that had to be in control at all times, she wasn't the type to allow something as small as leaving the lights on. It was wasteful, you see. She despised waste.

Chairs pulled out from a table, another form of chaos that was unacceptable here. Lights left on. Someone was inconsiderate. A group of someones. Teenagers, perhaps?

They were here; he knew they were. Could this have been where Waller had stashed them? They could be close. Perhaps down another hallway. Had he been here a minute earlier, perhaps? Five minutes? The hunt was still on, his prey was close, and there were other predators to contend with.

Let's get the check over down now. Before—

His single eye closed then opened wide as a sense of disorientation hit him. Balance seemed to be slipping away no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it. The vacant conference room was starting to distort slightly, somehow moving to the left, then back to the right, rising up and falling, and doing so all at the same time.

Nausea hit next and down to his knees he fell. Uncharacteristically, he wobbled, needing to prop himself up by putting a hand on the floor. Even then, it did not feel sure, and it was getting so much worse. So much so that even the lighting and the air was taking on a green tinge.

"You have put up a remarkable fight, Herr Deathstroke. Your dominance, hovever ends here."

That voice. He recognized it. Vertigo. That little shit had taken his time, but had caught up with him all the same. The accent always gave him away.

"If you know what's good for you…" trailing off as a wave of nausea washed over him, "...you'll turn that damn thing off…" he almost leaned too far to the right there, "...and look the other way."

"You and I both know that is not an option," Vertigo tutted. Don't look straight at the man because that disorientation would only get worse. "If nothing else, you should remain vhere you are. My…comrades vill arrive to take you back into custody. Valler was most insistent ve take you in alive."

"Really," he growled, shutting his single eye. Get control of yourself. Get back your balance and do it now. In this position, he was a sitting duck.

"Oh, she vas most furious ven she found you missing. How you vere able to disable the bomb, ve still do not know. It is most irritating that you did not share how you vere able to do vith the rest of us."

"Have you forgotten? No honor amongst thieves," he quipped back, feeling the nausea ebbing away.

"Last I checked, ve are all killers here," Vertigo retorted.

"All the more reason to keep it to myself." A hand was moving down to his boot. "For all I know, you would have stabbed me in the back the second it was turned."

A chuckle. "You alvays vere the distrustful type. Never letting others get close. Never standing with the rest of the team."

"You've been here too long." His eyelid tensed as it squeezed all the more tighter. "You're not part of a team. No one is here. Just another tool until you're discarded, like all the others."

"Perhaps you are right. Does it really matter? Nein. I'll follow the lead of my taskmaster, and vhen the time is right, I vill make my own escape. Perhaps that time is now, that is, if…you are villing to serve me? Yes? Perhaps…perhaps if you svear feality now, I may just free you from my grip? Kill Valler, disable the bombs? I highly doubt this is beneath you since you—"

THWACK!

A thud.

Deathstroke breathed deeply, allowing the disorientation to weaken further. The seconds ticked by, and his strength returned. Carefully, he opened his eye and gazed at his work. Laying on the floor, partially in the doorway, was Vertigo. The man looked as if his strings had been cut and he had fallen wheresoever gravity dictated. His right eye was wide open, staring sightlessly and without any comprehension.

The left eye, covered with the device in which he emitted the radiation that could so disorient any unfortunate to be exposed to it had the last of his throwing daggers piercing right through it. Down to the pommel it went, the rest of the blade deep in Vertigo's skull. The man always did like the sound of his own voice, never realizing that to a man like Deathstroke it gave away his exact position.

Of course he knew how to throw a knife without sight. It was an early skill the special forces demanded he learn among other things. Vertigo's accent only made it easier to…"aim."

He had no real beef with those trapped here, but if they were going to insist on standing in his way, then he wasn't going to hesitate in disposing of them. Now, to find the Titans' trail and bring their miserable little lives to an end.

His sword was going to come into play here and he held it aloft as he began to leave the conference room. Then he abruptly pulled back as the doorjamb exploded into fragments and splinters. Damn, that had been close. Deadshot had caught up.

It was far past time to end this.

Snagging one of the chairs from the conference table, Deathstroke threw the piece of furniture through the doorway, following after it as gunshots tore into it. As the chair landed onto the floor, he slipped around it moving closer to the corner that Deadshot was using as cover.

With all the speed he could muster, the dual-colored assassin rushed at the sniper, swinging the blade of his sword just as the wrist-mounted gun barrel aimed right at him.

The door to the control room was torn open. Wonder Girl tossed it aside as she led the rest of the team into it. From where he sat, a guard jerked around and stared at them, eyes wide but then narrowing as he pulled out a gun. Her lasso was faster, glowing red as its loop tightened down on the guard's wrist. Yanking it, she pulled the man out of his seat and clotheslined him.

Raven slipped around her and did her work then, putting the guard asleep to make sure he wouldn't interfere. Cyborg walked past the armor-wearing blonde, moving to the console that the guard had once attended and taking his seat in a chair that was much too small for him and squealed under his weight. Rising up from where she had crouched, Raven calmly strolled in and set herself close to a corner, and Starfire faced the door, watching it and braced for anyone or anything that might try to come in.

According to Cyborg, what they needed was in here.

As far as she knew, Red was out there and running to try and find Kid Flash. Beast Boy was also out there too, and they hadn't come across him. What was that idiot thinking? Now was not the time for any of this bullshit, whatever the hell it was.

Cyborg plugged in a USB cable and was doing his magic. There would be some grunts and some murmurs here and there, but the cyborg wasn't their resident tech man for nothing.

"Alright, I'm in," he announced.

So far, so good. Even from here, you could hear the sounds of gunshots, singular as they were. The fighting was still happening. For how much longer was anyone's guess. Was she sure about what they were doing? No, not really. How could anyone be sure in this situation?

But standing around doing nothing was not an option. Red had gotten through that they weren't safe here, not from Deathstroke and not from Waller. They were going to have to protect themselves, however they could. Right now, she couldn't think of anything else.

If nothing else, this was going to serve as one big fuck you to Waller.

"Found the access to all the doors?" she asked, her tone of voice commanding.

"Got'em all," Cyborg confirmed. "Who do you want me to set loose?"

There was a second when she thought it over. So far, the League, the Titans, and everything else in between hadn't worked. The crooks that Waller employed hadn't worked just yet either. Really, thinking about it, there was only one real option.

"Everyone."

Cyborg hesitated, then he looked to her, confusion painted on his face. "Everyone?"

Forcefully, she slammed a hand on the console, careful not to damage anything but still make an impact. "Everyone."

A single wide eye stared back at her, but then the robotic Titan nodded his head.

Blue eyes flickered to the workstation with all of its buttons and switches, and then she added, "Is there some kind of radio or a way to talk to the rest of this place?"

Cyborg nodded his head to a side, a gesture that directed her attention to a thin stem in which a small, black, voice receiver was atop. A microphone. Good enough.

"Opening doors," Cyborg stated while she moved to stand in front of the microphone. Trusting it was on, she spoke, "Hey assholes. I don't know about you, but I think everyone here wants out. You want to go? We're busting out, but first, there's this other asshole, one in black and orange who broke in here stupidly. Whoever takes him down, we're taking with us." Pausing, she thought about what little information that Red had been willing to share with Cyborg, then added, "if you're worried about a certain contingency, don't. We're taking that over too. No one's going to be losing their heads any time soon so go wild and take that sucker down."

There, that sounded good enough.

"Is there a danger that these individuals will lose their heads?" Starfire asked, still facing the opened doorway, but her concern leaked through her voice all the same.

Wonder Girl shrugged her shoulders. "Beats the hell out of me. I'm just guessing."

Yes, a bluff, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She had no idea if they were going to be able to follow through on her promise, and voluntarily taking one of these bad guys with them in a prison break was going to be awkward.

Everything else had already been tried. Now let's let a small army of bad guys try to take Deathstroke down.

If nothing else, it should slow that bastard down.

Cyborg's directions were clear and direct. The only sound that really registered was his pounding feet against the floor. Up ahead were twin doors, ones that should follow the same regulations as those in a hospital. If not, a birdarang with a tendency to explode might change its mind.

Mere feet away, but it felt like forever. The mistake of coming here, of going to A.R.G.U.S. was weighing down on him, and please, don't let it be too late. Kid Flash had been through enough being involved with the lot of them. While having faith in Kid Flash's ability to bounce back, if Waller succeeded in what she intended to do, could the speedster hold on to his optimism?

They weren't going to find out.

As he neared the door, Red Robin allowed his own momentum to propel him forward, raising a leg up to kick the doors open and—hey, they just opened up easy. Just like in a hospital. His dramatic entrance drew a lot of heads in his direction, and the masked teen took up a defensive stance while he took in the scene.

Kid Flash was on an operating table. Next to him was a man with tanks—anesthesia—and he was busy stretching the strap of an air mask so that it could be put over the speedster's head. Two more surgeons were by a small cart, one of them with their hands held up, fingers spread out, and surgical gloves on. Eyes from attendants stared at him, and all seemed like they were in the middle of something right before being interrupted.

"Get away from him!" he barked, letting his voice echo throughout the room.

"Red? What are you doing here?" The question came from the operating table where a confused speedster laid. "They're about to do the thing, you know, my leg and everything—"

"I'm canceling it," Red Robin interrupted, not taking his eyes off the surgeons standing close to that cart. "No one is going to touch him."

"You're not suppose to be here," the surgeon who was wearing gloves stated.

"And you're not going to do that contingency that Waller's told you to do to Kid Flash. One last time, back away," the Titan leader ordered.

The gloved surgeon responded, "Remove him. We have our orders."

Two attendants began to make their way towards the teen vigilante, and they were reluctant about it. Fighters, they were not. Maybe they feared Waller more than him. He watched their approach, eyes flickering over to Kid Flash who was starting to frown while the person who seemed to be the lead surgeon was issuing directions for the upcoming surgery.

It was going to be this way, wasn't it? These people weren't criminals and as far as he knew they weren't necessarily bad people either, but what they were ordered to do made him tense. A regular ol' birdarang was slipped out and that brought the attendants up shot as they eyed it cautiously.

Taking advantage of the hesitation, he threw the projectile at the anesthesia tanks, severing the tubing that connected them to the air mask. The anesthesiologist yelped in surprise, stumbling back and this had Kid Flash sitting upright.

"So…feeling the mode?" A question asked so casually, but after hearing the phrase and others like it, Red Robin knew what was being asked.

"I prefer crashing it," he replied.

"Get him out of here!" the head surgeon ordered.

This seemed to be the motivation the attendants needed to try and follow through. They approached, arms reaching out and ready to grab him. Already regretting this was how it had to be, Red Robin dashed to the left and snagged one of the outreached arms as he did so. Holding the limb captive, he landed a few jabs into the attendant's ribs then forced him down while bringing a knee up into the stomach. Releasing the arm, he raised both up, clasping his hands together then bringing an elbow into the attendant's back.

The other attendant watched with wide eyes, and then the masked Titan was on him. Pushing with his legs, he leapt onto the surgery-prepped man and delivered two well-placed punches to the face before his feet landed on the floor. A sweep of his leg kicked out the attendant's and down the guy went. Down, Red Robin went to land one more punch and knock him out.

Now for the rest. Another attendant seemed offended on the part of the two fallen ones. This one had grabbed a surgical saw—now why would that need that?—and ran heedlessly at the teen vigilante. Didn't he know you don't run with sharp objects though where a saw fit into that logic was debatable.

This attendant was taken care of swiftly, disarmed of the saw and given several blows to the torso and unconsciousness taken away with a hit to the back of the skull. Three down, who was next?

One of the surgeons had begun moving, but he was stopped next to the operating table. A certain speedster had reached out and snagged an arm, and when the surgeon checked to see why he was being yanked back, who knows how many hits were made thanks to superspeed. The surgeon's body jerked like it was being hit by machine gun fire, even though that was farther from the truth, but he dropped all the same once Kid Flash was done with him.

"Yeah, he's my ride, I'm gonna need him," Kid Flash quipped.

Other attendants were pulling back, obviously not paid enough for this. All that remained were the anesthesiologist and the head surgeon, and the former was also backing away. Red Robin marched his way to the head surgeon and gripped him by the front of his scrubs, forcing him close.

"Second thoughts, yet?" he snarled into the man's face, only seeing the wide eyes over the surgical mask. "Thought so. What were you actually going to do to him? Tell me or this is going to get real nasty for you real quick. We're in an operating room with all the tools you brought with you. I think I can get creative."

A threat, but one he wouldn't carry out. Bluffing, but hopefully he was taken as his word. He didn't need someone to see through him and challenge him.

A thought occurred to him and he added, "I know about Task Force X and the contingency. Is that what you were going to do?"

The head surgeon swallowed. "I'm…I'm just doing what I was told. Your speedster's leg was going to be examined…and the…the bomb was going to be implanted. It's Waller's order, I'm just following it!"

Red Robin's eyes narrowed. Implanting a bomb? Is that the contingency? "Where exactly were you going to implant it?" he growled.

The man's mouth had to be dry with how rapid he was swallowing. "The…the head…"

There were no words for this.

It took so much effort for Red Robin to shove the head surgeon away instead of assaulting him. There was a little pride that he didn't give in to that urge. He chose to stomp over to the operating table so that he could help Kid Flash get off of it. The speedster had heard the same answer as him and with less information he still was able to put the pieces together.

"No one's going to get any bright ideas stopping us," Red Robin said loudly. "We're checking out."

"No stars!" Kid Flash added, pointing a finger at the head surgeon. Then in a hushed whisper, "That's what you say in this era, right?"

Before he could answer, Wonder Girl's voice echoed throughout the complex and there was no time for any silly banter now. If things weren't bad now, they were about to get so much worse.

Tired, Deathstroke continued to stalk regardless of how he felt. Deadshot was down, still alive, but it had been a challenge. Who would have thought a sniper would have more than decent hand-to-hand skills? His fellow assassin was more well-rounded than he had thought. Just an oversight and one he would not repeat should their paths cross again in the future.

There was something to meeting someone with similar skills and ability. It tested you in ways that could not be copied. Maybe it was out of respect that he left the sniper alive, or maybe it was because Deadshot was not his prey.

Now, where were those Titans hiding?

The announcement came as a surprise. Beneath his mask, he grimaced at the offer that was made. Then he had to hand it to the girl; she was preying on the hope that the inmates here still had in order to coax them to give in to their basic instincts. Those who were still desperate enough to hope were going to be hunting him now.

Hunter becoming the hunted, an old trope. To think it would happen to him.

Exhaustion had to be forgotten about because things were about to get real interesting real quick. Instead of waiting in this hallway or in a room to ambush, Deathstroke turned on his heel to head back to the cell block. If this was going to be a fight, it was going to be on his terms.

Turning a corner, it was a sure shot to his destination, and even from here he could make out the moving bodies. That they still had courage to leave their cells; they weren't all entirely broken by Waller yet.

But they were willing to be human shields for the Titans. That was going to be their problem.

As he entered the cell block, one of them spotted him and yelled out, "There he is!"

You could tell who the amateurs and the egomaniacs were; they were the first to go on the warpath. Not everyone that Waller "recruited" were the same. Some were highly trained killers, some were just plain killers, some were criminal "masterminds," others fit into the metahuman bracket, but some overlapped in multiple groups.

Those who had no understanding of who he was and what he could do were the cannon fodder.

The first one to reach him was some maniac serial killer who really took the Hollywood depiction as the go to for how to act. Yelling, screaming like an idiot, moving erratically, all things ended with a swift strike to the face. Throw in a broken nose with blood squirting out of it and that was one down. Hmm, didn't even know what the loser's name was.

Next came another male, no powers, but he vaguely recalled that he might be called Slipknot. Regardless, he rolled his head out of the way of the wild punch, letting his upper body lean to the left while lashing out with a kick into the man's side. His elbow followed up with a jab to the side of the head and while this barely remembered killer fell, he was acting on the third person to attack.

This person had a body that an Olympic athlete trained for, and this person tried to tackle him. Didn't recall the name he used, and didn't care as he brought the butt end of his sword handle down into the man's back, right between the shoulder blades. Getting a grunt, he decked the side of the man's head then the other side with the hand holding his sword reinforcing the blow. One more strike had his third victim spinning over himself to land on the floor.

Two more tried to attack and this time he used his blade for its intended purpose, slicing their torsos and leaving them to bleed out. Next came a husband and wife duo. Names escaped him but at least they tried to work together. It didn't end well as the husband got a large gash on his back for his trouble and the wife was throat punched to bring her down.

Next was a large Russian man. Name escaped him like the last few, but he did remember there was some strength and durability to this one. Both of the Russian's arms were held up to block the slash made at them, the cuts ignored while he tried to land a hit on Deathstroke. The assassin easily evaded everything thrown at him, and when an opening showed up, a kick to the knee destabilized the man's balance. Taking a muscular arm, the dual-colored killer hyperextended it, then brought it down on his knee. The elbow was targeted which got a cry of pain out of the Russian. A vicious twist followed and now the bones within were broken. The durability seemed to be in the muscles here.

Leaving that one to scream and whimper, next came a woman. Plastique. A woman who was very explosive and the way the air around her shimmered gave away how close she was to detonation.

"You're my ticket out of here, huh?" Eyes were alight with glee and eagerness. "Splattering you with a—"

She was a talker when she didn't need to be. A personality like her's needed to yap and so her response time was far too limited to react as he approached. Interrupting what she was going to say next with his boot, the air in her lungs was forced out by the hit to her torso, her eyes bulging now.

The butt end of his sword met her face, and now she too joined the fallen.

From behind, someone tried to charge him. Reversing his grip on the sword handle, he thrusted the blade behind him and into the body of his would be attacker. Reversing his grip again, his sword swung and nicked another prisoner here. The following slash opened this man's gut, blood flowing out of the wound.

No sooner had this immediate threat been taken down that the next comer came. Thin and lithe, he had some skill in the marital arts but it was far from enough. Deathstroke easily dodged the jabs then lashed back, striking the throat and once more kicking out the legs. Two more came after him, both charging to try and tackle him. He spun out the way of the pair but didn't move too far as he got a knee into one of their guts. The other ended up running over the last threat.

Knocking that one out, he took care of the other. No sooner had he done so that a man with playing cards tattooed on his body tried his luck. The man peeled two of those tattoos off and threw them like they were razor sharp knives. The assassin twisted his body to the side, these cards scraping his armor but doing no lasting damage.

Two more cards disgustingly peeled off the skin and were thrown, both were ducked under as the assassin darted towards the tattooed man. Card after card was thrown, and a couple managed to cut into his arms—no injuries—and one managed to stab into his chest plate, but this man was in over his head and soon over the assassin's shoulder as he barreled into the tattooed man's legs and threw him over.

Casually, he stomped on that tattooed head while dodging a punch from another inmate who his arm chopped off with a sword slice for his troubles. A muscular woman tried tackling him and he went for the ears followed a few more blows to various vulnerable areas. A choice slash cut into her back. Next was a muscular African American who seemed to be foaming at the mouth for a chance at him. A chance is what he got and down on the floor he went, a leg missing.

Feeling eyes on him, he shot a look upwards and found, of all people, the Dark Archer himself watching from a catwalk. He was wondering when Merlyn was going to show up. However, there would be no fight between them because as soon as eye contact was made, Merlyn shook his head and slunk back off to his cell. Smart man.

The next ones in this gauntlet weren't. One after the other, sometimes two at once, he fought every single person here willing to take up the Titans' offer. Every hit he made was starting to make his body ache, every blow he delivered was exertion without a rest, and still he pressed on. Blows turned to slices, his sword cutting into bodies which tended to end skirmishes as soon as they began. Slices then became amputations, and limbs dropped to the floor, blood starting to coat everything in the general vicinity.

The floor was littered with the unconscious and maimed, those in one piece and those in multiple. Again, there was no real point in killing any of them, but some were going to the morgue anyway. They were trapped rats as it was and what was the worst they were going to do? Come after him? And do what? Attack loved ones? He had driven those off long ago.

They couldn't hurt him, not here, not later, not ever. This was making sure they understood that. Slowly, though, the action was dying down. The rest were getting spooked, only the desperate were willing, but even desperation only took you so far. Now…where was—

"Hey pussy! Yeah, I'm talking to you!"

Pausing, the dual-colored assassin slowly looked and found what seemed to be the last of them. Desperation wasn't a reason for this one. Ego perhaps, or maybe it was just pure stupidity that kept this large muscle man going. This one wasn't about escape, but more to prove a point.

He was a bit of a loudmouth. Called himself Peacemaker, and he knew this became the idiot never shut up about it.

"It's you and me, balls to the wall," Peacemaker declared as Deathstroke began to stalk his way to him. "I'm about to show you a world of pain—you motherfucker!"

There might be a brain in there, that or a fighting instinct, because the large man recognized that a fight was incoming and he cut himself off to go on the offense. Deathstroke tilted his head to a side, the meaty fist passing right by him. The assassin lashed out with his palm against Peacemaker's face, fingers gripping down, and with the momentum he still carried, up went Peacemaker's body and then down it went as he slammed the man's head into the floor.

Just like that, it was over.

"Peacemaker, eh?" He gave a snort. "More like U.N. Peacekeeper, and with the same track record."

Standing up and leaving a twitching Peacemaker behind, the world's deadliest killer took in his handiwork, gazed upon the broken bodies left in his wake, and then noticed the last true movement. He narrowed his single eye, watching the slim figure approach, and soon there was recognition.

A red and white sleeveless jumpsuit, tight-fitting fingerless gloves, bare feet, and yes, green skin. One of the Titans had come out to play instead of hide.

The recent fighting had exhausted him, but his second wind was coming back. With one of his targets in sight, Deathstroke found more fight in himself, and he was ready for whatever the immature shapeshifter could throw at him.

From here, he could notice how tense the little boy was. Nervous energy, the kind that existed right before a fight. Oh, he wanted a fight, hmm? The green adolescent had found it.

"Care to give me a challenge?" Deathstroke taunted as he held his sword up. Adding, "A better one than last time? There's no girlfriend to save you this time."

Green eyes seethed and green lips parted to reveal clenched teeth. "I want you all to myself."

Gloved hands gripped the sword handle tightly. "Then come and take it."

Author's Note: Anyone care to take a guess at the references in this chapter?