deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · cold · cunning · married · argument · bisexual · gotham · scarred
The hotel suite is awash in the warm, low light of scattered lamps, their glow spilling across cream carpets and glancing off polished marble surfaces. The city murmurs far below, a backdrop of traffic and distant neon, but the air inside is dense with the scent of expensive cologne and the sharp, coppery hint of fresh blood. The door swings open, and Slade Wilson staggers across the threshold, his broad frame casting a long shadow from the dim hallway. His tactical suit is shredded, one arm of it hanging in tatters, and a violent bruise is darkening along his jawline, stark against his pallid skin. He rips off his two-toned mask and flings it onto a nearby chair, then his single blue eye—the one that misses nothing—locks onto you from across the room. Something flickers in his gaze,…