Slade watched the blood in his wrist turn blue again. It was always sickeningly fascinating watching his body mend itself from even the gravest of wounds.
His wounds, many minor but a few more damning, were finally healed from the shit-show that was Gotham.
Luckily, there was no money tied up in why he was there. Some missions came from higher powers that even he couldn't afford to say no to, even if it was pro-bono work. In the end, the failure that was Gotham was only a hit to his reputation more than anything, and even then that would work to his advantage in the long run.
The lesser mercenaries would think themselves better and more capable. They'd become hopeful that they could do something even he couldn't do. That they could one-up him. The fools would attempt jobs in the city, trying to one-up him, but they'd find out the hard way they were not good enough to even escape the triplet of protectors of that city.
What an annoying triplet they were.
His retreat wasn't his choice. It was another choice forced upon him that he could not defy.
If only he would've been allowed five more minutes of fun. They would've all been cold on the ground like the thousands of his past.
Victory had been so close… at the cusp of his sword. His blade had tasted their blood, their fear. It thirsted as much as he did for a finality to his stint in that rotten city.
Slade hated leaving matters unfinished and scores unsettled.
However, someone was always pulling strings in the dark and needing the world's greatest mercenary to keep the light from shining on the wrong areas. So, for their schemes, success came at a price, an expensive one. At least for everyone but this silent benefactor, who had recently finally found their voice once again after decades of cold, dark silence. Rather, a proxy one.
"Prod the target, only, mate," the red-headed man huffed. He clearly did not look interested in being the go-in-between broker. The tall British man was dressed in crimson musketeer armor with his hair pulled back into a ponytail. He looked as if he was pulled fresh out of a 1600s European revolution. "Draw blood as much as desired, but death is not the focus right now."
Slade, behind his mask, frowned. Why come to him if they wanted their target alive? This was the second mission in a row now. He was in the business of killing. "You want me to harass this target, now?"
The man shrugged, eyes not even meeting Slade's single one. Instead, he followed his mastiff that bounded around the room. The large dog, nearly as big as a juvenile bear, sniffed about Slade's safe house. Its nose lingered on the very sword that had almost taken off the little Robin's leg.
"Sure, mate. We can call it that." He shrugged, glancing over Slade. "I was just to tell you to make the target take his role seriously. Prod him, poke him, but not to kill him. A lot of important movers got investments on him."
Slade nodded. He had done similar things to lure targets out of hiding. He could do that again without putting a bullet between someone's eyes. "Who's the target?"
Ponytail smirked before finally meeting Slade's eye. Something about it made the one-eyed man uncomfortable. Small, even. It quickly reminded him just who he was dealing with, and the nature of his contract. He had little room for negotiating.
"Perseus Jackson."
The shadows grew, and Slade felt a coldness itch along his spine. Not just any chill either. It wasn't a frosty touch like snow or a goosebumps chill. It was worse. It was an almost forgotten feeling, one he hadn't felt since he was younger.
It was the coldness of the void, of all that man feared, coalesced into an unforgiving aura that haunted the stars.
Slade did his best to keep his face calm, even with the mask hiding him. "Are you sure?"
"You think I mix words for the fun of it, boy?" Ponytail narrowed his eyes. His dog growled from somewhere behind where Slade sat.
"Apologies," the hitman quickly replied. "I do not doubt whatever plan that is being proposed. I merely was surprised that my target would be a man like Jackson."
Ponytail shrugged, uninterested, once more as he turned away. His large dog came to his side, no longer bothered with growling. "Just remember not to kill him, or the cambion-girl he's meant to be teaching. She still has use to people who are investing in her Father's powers."
"As for why not him?"
"I don't know all the details just what to pass on." The man lifted his massive longsword that he had left by the door. "If I was a betting man, I'd wager you couldn't even kill him in the first place."
Slade didn't disagree with the statement outright. Every man could be killed, that he did know. However, someone like Perseus Jackson wouldn't die quietly. So, for as much as any man could die, it became an ask of whether was it worth it.
"And I am to provoke this sleeping dragon, then," Slade concluded.
"Aye. Shit needs to burn, and the wanker needs a spark."
"Timeline?"
The man shrugged and looked down at his mastiff, who stared back. Neither said a word, but Slade felt left out of a conversation all the same. Then the strange man turned back to him.
"Give us a taste. The sooner the better."
Slade nodded, watching the duo phase right through his tungsten-alloy blast-resistant door. He waited a few seconds, straining his enhanced ears for any further sounds of footsteps leaving but heard nothing. His guests were simply gone.
Sighing, the man allowed himself to slump into his chair. His right hand lifted away the metal mask of his armor. He blinked, allowing his eye to adjust to the greater exposure of lighting that came from his room of screens.
He pushed his chair forward, closer to his desk and computer. He knew who Jackson was. Anyone worth their salt in the world of power knew of the boy who was once framed for blowing up the St. Louis Arch. That alone created files in databases all around the world, and those databases only grew with more information for a few years about the elusive details of the young troublemaker, who never once was punished or chased down. Then, naturally, those databases were hacked and the knowledge inside was distributed to those with enough money to move mountains.
Now, it was his job to go stick his nose in business no world government or secret agency ever cared to act on.
Even better, he'd need to move his operations to the West Coast by the end of the week. He'd need to call Tiggs. Maybe even pull a favor out of Luthor. Thankfully, he wouldn't need to contact anybody of the League of Shadows. That was a silver lining, at least.
It would seem things were finally moving again, on a front he had long since thought had lost meaning. How foolish of him.
The past never stays dead.
They were easy marks. The Teen Titans, that is.
Slade had moved his safehouse to Jump City with ease. And with the same ease, he had begun scouting the Titans, while already formulating a plan on how to see his assignment met.
In the last twenty-four hours alone, he could've taken a shot at each and every one of them without any of the others aware. Perhaps the only one that would pose an actual threat would be the alien. Yet, even then, he'd just need to up the caliber and change the alloy.
If their death was the goal, he'd be extracted already without breaking a sweat.
He pulled the camera away from his face. Water lapped below him as he stood just shy of the bridge that connected their tower to the mainland of Jump City. The smell of the sea was pungent in the bay, annoyingly so to his enhanced senses. He could practically taste the salt and gamey flavor of the waters just by breathing.
Bored, Slade put his camera back into its travel bag, ever thankful for having a normal-looking camera that could see past any tint or glare. He had collected enough photos from this needed vantage point straight into their ground-level floor. Next, he'd need to find a helicopter to get photos of the roof for access points and of the backside of the tower for anything else that his pictures from a distant roof to the east couldn't see. Perhaps a boat for the latter…. Either way, it would take a little longer to get the beginnings of a plan rolling. At least something concrete he could act on.
That, however, did not mean he couldn't start prodding the waters soon with some acquired help. He'd have to swap some euros for dollars, strain them through a variety of shell companies in South America, and deposit them in their new homes, but it would hardly be a dent in his funds.
The hired help should fail to do anything substantial in terms of beating the Titans as a whole, but Slade wasn't exactly planning on spending top dollar for the starting course either. No, he just needed to see where the players stood and what they did when were aware of the danger.
Then, from there, he could prepare countermeasures for each and every one of them. Already, he had a tranquilizer being prepared to handle the animal-boy and EMP devices for the cyborg. However, did Wonder Girl play by the same clauses as Wonder Woman? Did a man binding her wrists render her powerless as well?
Slade had long since figured out that magical beings were weird like that. Everyone always had a balance, however, a counter to their rhythm. No matter how much Slade punched above his weight class, he could find what put them on even footing with him when fists began to be traded.
He would only need to find it for the rest of the Titans before he actually took a fight to them, but most importantly for Jackson. What measure could Slade do to put them on the same level? He didn't have much, but he did have time. Ironic….
Slade quickly disappeared into the morning bustle of Jump City, becoming another face amongst the crowd. In no time he was back in his newest safehouse.
Various screens woke to his presence. One looped camera feeds of the surrounding block, showing nothing of note just empty abandoned buildings with broken windows and bricks blackened by grime. Another screen, however, showed one new notification: One new email.
Slade smiled as he read over the subject line. It was good news. Really good news. He read a little more, only becoming more pleased. Ultivac had been missing from ARGUS' warehouse for over two years now. It was out there somewhere. And being somewhere unknown was a lot easier than being in an ARGUS warehouse. It was better to leave a woman like Waller alone.
He turned away, approaching his armor rack. His black and orange armor waited for him, shining under a single light that glinted across the pristine surfaces of the metal.
Now he just needed to find out which lunatic was controlling the death-bot these days.
He would need to make a house visit. The mad scientist T. O. Morrow would know who he was looking for.
AN: a small chapter to introduce Slade. Bonus points to anyone who knows who the person with the dog is!
As always, hope you enjoyed it. the next chapter by design is going to be different than what you are used to. I promise you it will make sense later when I can dabble around the concept to deeper extents. Have faith in the monke-brain.
Join the Discord server (4xTFdeQsFv) and keep up to date with when my next update will be and whats going on when i cannot post for "x" amount of time. Im very open and honest about timelines. im simply a busy man trying to make that money.
Hope all is well.
Have a good day/night.
That's about it.
-Manke
