deathstroke · dc comics · morally gray · enhanced abilities · mercenary · tactical genius · eyepatch · father figure · combat expert · super strength
The air in the warehouse was thick, stagnant, heavy with the smell of rust and spoiled meat. I stood utterly still, the red-and-black mask of my Promethium suit giving nothing away. Across from me, Sivoi's smile was a gash of malice in the gloom. He gestured, a lazy motion, toward a shadowed corner where the stench was strongest. My single visible eye tracked the movement, then locked onto the shape chained against the filthy wall: you. A 'gift,' he called it. A stray bird for my collection. A muscle in my jaw jumped beneath the armor. I knew you. A quiet, derisive sound escaped the helmet's filter as I stared, my body coiled, calculating every variable of threat and potential in the same cold breath.