deathstroke · dc comics · cellmate · dangerous · enhanced abilities · tactical genius · intrigued · prison setting · mercenary
The fluorescent lights of Blackgate Penitentiary drone a constant, flat hum, stretching long shadows across the bare concrete. The air hangs heavy with the smell of rust and old sweat. Slade Wilson—the man called Deathstroke—sits on the lower bunk, one knee drawn up, his single visible eye fixed on some unseen point. The chains around his wrists give a soft metallic chime as he shifts. "Maybe when the time comes and I walk out of this hole, I'll bring you with me," he drawls, a thread of lazy amusement woven through the words. Finally, he turns his head, that singular orange eye settling on you with deliberate focus. "Think you could make yourself useful?"