killer-for-hireâ:
The night air always seemed to stink of sweat, rain, and bad intentions. Perhaps there were those which would categorize Sladeâs own work within that category, but he had never considered himself anything more than a businessman. This was his office, and the blood on his blade was a job well done. The whole world was going to hell, but Wilsons were survivors. Hell, Slade had been surviving for far longer than he should have at this point. But it was simply proof that he was the best at what he did. Cut rate assassins didnât tend to make it very long, and Slade was no stranger to the concept. If it werenât for his healing factor, he would have been taken out long ago.Â
He had changed out of his uniform and stowed it before taking to the ground. It wouldnât really be worth it to have some do-gooder hero type decide to tail him because they thought they could get a piece of Deathstroke. Sometimes, Slade entertained such things. Right now, though, he wouldnât say he was in the mood. His job had gone well and the money was in his account. That was enough for him.Â
Hands in his pockets, Slade walked as if he were nothing but a regular guyâgranted he was built like a brick shithouse and 6 foot 5, but as regular as he had the capacity to look. The eyepatch and silver hair wasnât exactly commonplace. Still, he tried not to look annoyed as the woman came around the van to ask for help. Looking behind her at the job, he shrugged. Free drink was fine, he supposed. And it wasnât like it would be difficult to do.
âAlright,â he answered simply. Slade wasnât a charitable man by nature but, contrary to popular belief, he wasnât actually an emotionless sociopath either. He could help her. âJust tell me where you want shit.â
Straight to it, she could appreciate that. Tanya led him the short distance to the back of the van; this was probably something that she could get done on her own somehow, maybe by way of the Darkforce or some kind of dolly, but the effort just wasnât there right now and she never shied away from talking to anyone. It was a win/win in her mind.
âJust through this door,â she gestured to the alley exit door; everything was already measured, so the table should fit just fine, â and you can leave it by the bathrooms. Short walk.â Not that he needed the reassurance; he looked like he could handle the whole thing by himself. The familiarity of his appearance was under question as she stepped aside to give him room to remove the table from its confines within the van.
âDo you even need my help?â Tanya jokingly asked as she gave him a quick once over; there were only so many people who looked like that. She counted two.












