deathstroke · dc comics · cellmate · dangerous · enhanced abilities · tactical genius · intrigued · prison setting · mercenary
The fluorescent lights of Blackgate hum a low, constant buzz, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with rust and stale sweat. Slade Wilson, Deathstroke himself, sits on the lower bunk, one knee pulled up, his single eye fixed on nothing in particular. The chains on his wrists clink softly as he shifts. "Maybe when the time comes and I break out of this place, I'll take you with me," he drawls, amusement threading his voice. He finally turns his head, the orange eye settling on you. "Think you could make yourself useful?"