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He hadn’t laid eyes on that man in five long, turbulent years, yet here he stood before him, shrouded in an aura of secrecy. Dick could hardly wrap his mind around it. Slade, with his piercing gaze and the unmistakable air of confidence that had always made him a formidable presence, was back, and the sight sent a jolt through Dick’s chest. What brought him here now, of all times?
Their past interactions had been sparse and highly selective. Dick had only reached out to Slade when he hit rock bottom, desperate for critical information, while Slade used him sporadically for dangerous missions that tested the limits of loyalty and trust. But this was different. The air between them felt charged, as if the years of silence had morphed into a palpable energy, beckoning a confrontation of sorts.
Memories flooded Dick’s mind—the thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins during their shared exploits, the fleeting moments of camaraderie overshadowed by a lingering sense of betrayal. The streets that had once served as their battlegrounds now felt like a stage for unresolved issues. Why had Slade reemerged from the shadows? As Dick’s heart raced, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was no mere coincidence; something significant loomed on the horizon, and he was all but certain that Slade was the key to unlocking it.
"Batman, why is Deathstroke here?" Dick Grayson asked, his brow furrowing as he scrutinized the imposing figure of the white-haired assassin standing quietly nearby. The atmosphere in the Batcave felt charged, the dim lighting casting long shadows that accentuated the tension in the air. Dick couldn’t help but feel a chill run down his spine at the sight of someone so notorious, so unpredictable, so... deadly.
"Well, Nightwing," Batman replied, his voice steady and firm, reverberating softly off the stone walls. Dressed in his iconic black suit, the Dark Knight exuded an air of authority, his cape fluttering slightly as he turned to face Dick. "He’s here to assist the Justice League on a critical mission," Batman stated this fact like it was the most natural thing in the world, his gaze unwavering and inscrutable.
Dick took a moment to absorb his mentor's words, feeling a mix of apprehension and disbelief. He drew in a deep breath, trying to keep his heart from racing in response to the looming presence of Deathstroke. “What mission?” he asked, his tone edging into urgency as he glanced nervously toward his friends and brothers huddled around the Batcomputer. Each was a mixture of concern and curiosity, their expressions mirroring his anxiety.
The silence that hung in the air was palpable, thick with unspoken questions and tension. Dick felt the weight of his team's gaze, their anticipation amplifying his unease. What could warrant the involvement of a mercenary known for his ruthlessness and cunning? As he observed Deathstroke’s battle-worn armour, the glint of deadly weaponry partially concealed at his side, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission was of unprecedented significance—and danger. The challenges ahead would undoubtedly test the limits of their trust in each other.
"The mission is simple, there are members of the Light that have staked out near Happy Harbour. We have reason to believe that they going to attack Mount Justice, and we need to attack before they do. I want Kid Flash, Artemis and Red Robin to look around the perimeter, make sure there are no members dressed as civilians. Now, this is where it gets tricky, this is the only mission I will allow someone to kill. The Light members we are expecting to be there are dangerous and cannot be put in prison, so I will have Deathstroke and Red Hood go in and kill them. I want Nightwing, Robin and Miss Martiness to go around in the building, checking that they are dead."
Batman stood at the forefront of the dimly lit command centre, the shadows casting a serious demeanour across his chiselled features. His voice was a deep, resonant command, echoing off the cold concrete walls and capturing the attention of every member of the elite team assembled before him. As he meticulously outlined the details of their high-stakes mission, the air thickened with a mixture of anticipation and tension. Each individual focused intently, their expressions a blend of determination and anxiety, fully aware of the challenges they were about to face.
As Batman assigned roles, the room buzzed with nods of understanding. Dick Grayson shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a stoic figure among the group, though a flicker of relief danced in his blue eyes. He was grateful to escape the chaotic energy of Deathstroke, knowing all too well that working directly with the infamous mercenary could lead to unpredictable outcomes that he wasn't ready to confront just yet.
Suddenly, a gruff voice interrupted the gathering, slicing through the tension like a blade. "No," Slade Wilson chimed in, his tone gravelly and unwavering, filled with an undeniable authority that sent a shiver through the room. His imposing figure was unsettling in its intensity, the single eye that remained to him deeply set and brimming with resistance. The abrupt interruption drew all attention to him, a silent challenge settling over the group as doubt began to creep into the atmosphere.
"What?" Batman's brow furrowed, a hint of irritation creeping into his otherwise composed demeanour as he regarded the formidable adversary.
"I will not work with Red Hood. I refuse," Slade declared, his voice unwavering as he locked eyes with Jason Todd, the tension between them palpable and electric. The air seemed to thicken with unspoken history and lingering hostility, a reminder of their tumultuous past. Jason’s expression darkened, a complex mix of bravado and frustration flickering across his face.
As Slade shifted his gaze back to Batman, the silence in the room was almost suffocating; every member present instinctively held their breath, uncertain of how this confrontation would unfold. The stakes were elevated now, the mission overshadowed by Slade's defiance, and each heart raced in anticipation of the conflict that was sure to erupt from this clash of wills.
"Then, who will you work with? Because Red Hood is the only one I trust to kill." Batman's voice matched Deathstroke's. The other figure leaned in subtly, a sly smirk playing across his lips as he captured Dick’s attention with an unwavering gaze. “Him,” he stated, the challenge clear in his tone, laced with playful arrogance and an undercurrent of tension.
A wave of surprise rippled through the room, throwing everyone into a momentary hush, eyes widening in astonishment as they turned to face Nightwing. Expressions morphed into a blend of disbelief and intrigue, the kind one might expect during a pivotal scene in a suspenseful drama. Dick felt the weight of their collective stares pressing against him, a mixture of expectation and excitement swirling in the air. With a resigned sigh, slightly exaggerated for effect, he offered a teasing grin that danced across his features. “Sure, if that’s what you want to do. But can you keep up with me, old man?” he challenged, his voice dripping with a playful bravado that belied the adrenaline surging through him.
Slade let out a low, rumbling chuckle that reverberated in the space between them, his smirk deepening as he leaned back, exuding an air of confidence that felt almost tangible. His casual posture belied the formidable presence that he commanded. “Little Bird,” he replied, his tone smooth as silk yet tinged with an undercurrent of mischief, “have you forgotten that I’m a meta?”
For just a brief moment, a flicker of excitement ignited in his solitary eye, a bright spark reflecting the depths of the extraordinary powers and sharp cunning that lay veiled beneath his nonchalant façade. It was a look that said he was more than just an adversary; he was a force to be reckoned with.
The atmosphere in the room became electric, charged with an unspoken challenge that hovered like a taut bowstring, ready to be released. As anticipation thickened around them, both men stood poised, the tension crackling in the air as they prepared to push their limits against one another, each aware that the upcoming contest would be anything but ordinary. The air was thick with the promise of excitement, drawing everyone further into the unfolding drama as they braced for what was to come.
"I should have let your wife take out your other eye," Dick smirked, his expression perfectly mirroring that of his old mentor, the corners of his lips curling upward in a way that spoke of countless shared jokes and late-night conversations. There was an unmistakable warmth in his gaze, a flicker of mischief that hinted at past escapades and friendly rivalries. The air between them crackled with a palpable sense of camaraderie, as though they were the last two participants in an inside joke that only they could fully appreciate.
The others stood nearby, forming a loose circle, their expressions a blend of fascination and bemusement. The silence around them was thick with anticipation as they observed the unfolding interaction, captivated by the effortless banter that flowed like a joyful melody. Each chuckle and quip exchanged pulled them deeper into the narrative of friendship and mentorship woven between the two men. It was a moment rich with history, allowing the onlookers a glimpse into a bond built through years of shared experiences, mentorship, and the kind of trust that only develops over time.