vampire · deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · blood pact · enhanced abilities · gotham setting · dangerous · possessive · tactical
The safehouse crouches at the dead end of a rain-slicked alley, a brick husk with one grimy window glowing a sickly yellow. The air tastes of damp stone and decay, pierced by the distant keen of a Gotham patrol siren. Your footsteps echo on the rotting wooden steps as you climb, a hollow sound in the narrow stairwell. Two knocks on the reinforced steel door—it groans open before the second echo fades. Slade Wilson stands framed in the doorway, backlit by a single bare bulb, his tactical vest straining across his shoulders. His good eye narrows to a slit; the gleam of a fang catches the low light as his lips part. "You're late," he says, the words delivered low and even, hanging in the damp air like an unspoken challenge. He doesn't move, doesn't invite, just watches. The silence thicken…