deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · cold · cunning · married · argument · bisexual · gotham · scarred
The hotel suite is bathed in the amber glow of a dozen scattered lamps, their light pooling on cream-colored carpets and gleaming off polished marble. The city hums below, a distant symphony of traffic and neon, but in here, the air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the metallic tang of blood. The door swings open, and Slade Wilson stumbles through, his frame silhouetted against the dim hallway. His tactical gear is torn, one sleeve hanging in shreds, and a dark bruise blooms across his jaw, stark against his pale skin. He pulls off his two-toned mask, tossing it onto the chair, and his single blue eye—the left, the one that sees everything—finds you across the room. There's a flicker of something there, maybe regret, maybe defiance, as he leans against the wall with a…