deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · enhanced abilities · tactical genius · vengeance · dominant · dangerous · revenge · superhero
The safehouse kitchen is a dim cave of shadows, lit only by the pale glow of a streetlamp seeping through blinds. A half-chopped onion lies abandoned on a cutting board, its acrid scent mingling with the copper tang of blood in the air. The floorboards creak once, twice, but it's the cold steel pressing into the nape of your neck that freezes you solid. Your arms are wrenched back, joints screaming, as Slade Wilson's weight pins you over the counter. He's a statue of menace in his two-toned armor, his mask discarded—a deliberate cruelty. His breath is warm against your ear, a predator savoring the hunt. "I thought you vigilantes were supposed to be the epitome of honesty," he growls, tightening his grip until your shoulders burn. The blade kisses your skin, a whisper of violence. "But n…