Contract CompletedEdit

The camera opens to Deathstroke sitting in Black Mask's office, being the aftermath of a deal.

Deathstroke: Well, I'd say it's a deal, Mr. Sionis. 40 million for a single assassination though? Slightly overpriced, but I'm not complaining.

Black Mask: (chuckes) Slade, Sllaadde. I know you haven't been to Gotham much, but you're assassinating the mayor of a city protected by the world's most annoying, and violent pest. Hell, some like that trigger finger sport, Deadshot, would consider it UNDERpriced.

Deathstroke: I see. Well, I shall put the assassination into action.

Deathstroke walks out of Roman's office. Scene cuts to Slade's chamber. Wintergreen is approaching Deathstroke with a plate and mug.

Wintergreen: I see you have taken up a new contract, sir. The mayor of Gotham City? Wait. Sir?

Deathstroke: What is it, Wintergreen?

Wintergreen: What about your rival, Nightwing? The Batman was last reported being caught up with something with Deadshot and Bane, but Nightwing has not a single action to complete besides your upcoming, unheard of assassination. Simply going with the assassination would be a practical unblocked pathway for Nightwing to you and you to prison.

Deathstroke: DAMMIT! Of course! I forgot about Nightwing. He'll interfer with the operation if he so much as hears a whisper about it. We are in requirement of a...........distraction.

Wintergreen: Might I suggest the basics? As in simply rounding up an army of henchmen and sending them to the Gotham Bank?

Deathstroke: That's a rather good idea, Wintergreen. Stay here, I'll go gather up our latter army.

Later, Deathstroke arrives in a snowy, dark Gotham alley containing a street fighting tournament.

Spectator: (notices Deathstroke) Hey, look at 'dat guy over 'here! OI! (the fight stops and both the fighters and spectators turn to Deathstroke)

Deathstroke: Hello, street fighters. Now, for whatever amatuer I defeat in this ring shall remain my henchmen with NO PAY. The only pay is the honor to face and work for me.

The organizer of the fight violently and angrily approaches Deathstroke.

Boss: HEY! You think you can just come in here, interrupt a fight, and agressively strike a deal to us, you no good piece of sh-

(grabs the boss and holds a knife to his throat) I wasn't striking a deal.

Boss: OKAY! Okay! Uhhh, Lavy, Gale, Roberts! Come over here. You'll be fightin' this guy!

Deathstroke battles and defeats the triplet of street fighters.

Deathstroke: What petty opponents.

Angry, raspy, unseen voice: LET ME AT 'IM!

The voice turns out to be Killer Croc.

Deathstroke: Waylon? Jones, what the hell are you doing in a street fight?

Killer Croc: Sorta became a lil' petty and not as feared as a criminal. So, I'mma beat the holy living hell outta these clowns n' rise my reputation. Plus, I git a lil' money outta it as well. Issa win win! Now, pull out your lil' girly gadgets as face me, coward!

Very well, Croc. I shall play your game, but I won't require your assistance.

Deathstroke fights and beats Croc as well as an elite.

Deathstroke: (scoffs) Well, my now injured servents. I own you now. Follow me on your broken legs unless you want a broken neck to fit with them.

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