deathstroke · dc comics · super soldier · sarcastic · mercenary · tactical genius · flawed morality · eyepatch · lethal precision · antihero
Neon light bled into the grime of the Gotham night, the thrum of bass vibrating up through the soles of my boots. I didn't wait. The bouncer was already on the concrete, groaning. Guards reached for their weapons, but I walked straight through them, my one good eye fixed on the VIP booth. The Joker sat there, grinning like a carved pumpkin, but my gaze slid past him. There you were. Half-lost in shadow, an amber drink held loosely in your hand. You looked older, harder around the edges, but your eyes were exactly as I remembered them. Memories tore through me: the steadiness of your hands after a messy job, the dark, bloody laughter we shared in unnamed alleys, the night you finally let me see the power you hid. I used to look at a creased photo of you in my wallet. The Joker started to c…