Son of Deathstroke

Meetings

Deathstroke and his apprentice waited by the arranged warehouse for their contractor to arrive. The teen paced restlessly around.

"Stop moving," his mentor chastised.

"I'm a teenager. I can't. I'm too energetic, and bored." In actuality, he was trained to sit still for a full day without moving an inch. But that didn't mean that he wanted to.

"Then make yourself useful and go up on the roof. Watch for complications. Only step in if you have to." The younger ran off to do as he was told.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting (they'd shown up half an hour early), their previously unknown contractor revealed themself. Or, more accurately, themselves.

Five dark-clad men and women stepped into view. It was impossible to tell who spoke.

"We see you did not back out, Deathstroke."

"And why would I? Ten million is ten million. And even if it's as hard as you say, whatever it is, I enjoy a challenge."

"Very well. You accept?"

Deathstroke's eye narrowed with impatience.

"Your target is the Justice League."

The mercenary managed to look surprised, skeptical, and impressed all at once. "Bold move. Lofty goals, much?"

"Hardly. Because you won't be targeting them directly."

"Oh?"

"You'll be infiltrating their covert team of young heroes to take them down from the inside. The Justice League will be crippled, and then we'll make our move."

Deathstroke looked them over for a moment. "You're new in this game." It was a statement, not a question. "You're trying to get a good handhold."

"We are, indeed, working to earn our place in the world."

"Even newbies like you should know that I wouldn't be able to infiltrate that team." Even from the roof, the suspicion in his tone could be clearly heard through the skepticism. He had an idea where they were going with this, and he didn't like it.

"That is why your apprentice will be the one to do it. You may want to summon him from wherever he's hiding now."

The teenaged mercenary almost fell off the roof. What? Him? Infiltrating the Justice League?

Anger crept into Deathstroke's tone. "And what makes you think he would do it?"

"He is ideal. And your type of mercenaries tend to have a sort of... pride. You all have something that you take pride in doing. The clean getaway, the excessive body count, whatever pleases you the most. And some pride themselves in never resisting a challenge."

"And you think anyone that I personally trained would fall for that trick? Just taking a job, only so he can say he never turned down a challenge?"

The topic of discussion suddenly appeared next to his master. "I can do it. Like you said, ten million is ten million."

"This will take a lot. Planning and--"

"Months of earning their trust, I know. Plus a ton of other details. But I already have a plan. Sort of. Just hear me out."

After a minute's consideration, Deathstroke reluctantly nodded.

And the plan was laid out.

xXx

He raced along the rooftops. The cops would show up to the mess behind him, and the first stage of his plan would be well on its way. Meanwhile, he was on his way to have a few meetings with well-known murderers and gangsters in one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country.

Gotham. Even with a dark masked crusader cleaning up the streets, it still was filthy with scum of all backgrounds. Perfect for a guy looking to make a buck. And he had just guaranteed that there wouldn't be anyone to clean him up for a while.

He arrived at the Penguin's main club not five minutes later. He let himself in and made his way to the big man's table.

As he stepped up to where the mob head sat, a man who he could only assume was either a bodyguard or a bouncer stepped in his way. "How did you even get in here, kid? And what are you wearing? Halloween isn't for months."

"I got in by walking. And what I'm wearing... what about it? It's my uniform." The man raised his eyebrows skeptically, then tapped his temple with a pointed look. The teen realized he was talking about the mask. "Oh. This is just a precaution. Almost as much of one as this." He pulled his katana out of the sheath on his back. "May I speak with your employer now, or do you need a demonstration?"

The muscular guard held his hands up in mock surrender and called over his shoulder, "Hey, boss. This kid wants to talk to you."

Penguin grinned and nodded, his curiosity clearly showing in his eyes. "Let's hear him out."

The young mercenary sheathed his blade and stepped forward with a slight nod of gratitude. "I'd like to do something for you. Not anything in particular. I'm not picky. But I seem to have a lack of money, and you seem to be the person to go to about that kind of thing."

Penguin regarded him with interest. "Aren't you a bit young for this kind of thing?"

He shook his head lightly. "Nope. So what do you have for me?"

"Depends on what you can do."

"Just about anything. I've guarded convoys, trailed people of interest, even eliminated a few problems. Depends on the day."

"And what day do you think today is?"

"Got any high-value shipments that need watching? I'm in the mood for a guard job."

"Come to think of it, I do. However..."

"Let me guess. I have to somehow show you that I'm not a joke. All right, do you want him dead or alive? Never mind, he's your guard, and smarter than most, too. You don't want him dead. Un momento, por favor." He tapped the burly man on the shoulder to get him to turn him around, and a split second later, he had flipped over him, flipped him over on his stomach, and pinned him there with a hand around his wrist lifting his arm uncomfortably and a foot planted firmly in his back. "Happy?" he asked.

Penguin nodded, and gestured for him to release the guard. "You're hired. Have you a name?"

"I suppose these days, a good name for me would be Renegade."