Chapter Text
“Sir, he neutralized the blast radius! The toxin is only spreading locally!”
“I can see,” Jason responded on the radio, watching the ongoing ruin of Ace Chemicals from the open bay of a cargo helicopter. The Batmobile was racing into the city. “It’s going exactly like I expected. Regroup with the strike team at HQ.”
“I…yes, sir.”
Jason switched to his private channel. “And how did that plan work for you?” he snarled at Scarecrow over the line, slamming a hand into the helicopter’s frame. “I told you he would find a way to stop it.”
“Only Plan A, Knight,” Scarecrow answered, “He had direct exposure to concentrated toxin. We should expect to see effects shortly.”
Jason’s fingers clenched around the doorframe. Gotham was passing quickly below, a dead city with only the semblance of life in the lights still left on. “This plan of yours better work out.”
“Plan of ours, Knight. Plan of yours. You will have your revenge in excess.”
“Holding you to that.” He cut the line, uninterested in going around in more circles with his ally.
“You know Scarecrow’s word is worth a bucket of warm spit, right?” Deathstroke asked.
Jason turned to see the assassin lounging against the wall to the chopper’s cockpit, sharpening his sword. “He knows that if he goes back on this, I’ll kill him.”
Deathstroke shrugged. “If I get a shot at the Bat, I’ll take it, just so we’re clear.”
“I don’t expect anything less.” Slade wouldn’t get the chance. He was good, almost the best…but Bruce was the best. Deathstroke thought like someone who cared about being the best killer, the greatest warrior. He thought in straight lines and slicing angles, all hollow in the middle.
Bruce didn’t think like that. A blade at his throat- or through it- wouldn’t stop him because Bruce had a purpose: punish the guilty of Gotham. All of Slade’s will and expertise and bloody experience didn’t compare to the edge that gave Bruce.
To the edge it was giving Jason.
“This would have been easier if the city was still populated,” Deathstroke said, “More chaos to work with.”
Unwillingly, Jason thought of the scene at that diner, men and women howling and tearing each other apart as he made his way out before he fell victim to the fear he’d unleashed. “Not part of the plan.”
“Hmm. Your plan, like the man said. I’d almost say you were still soft, kid.”
Jason drew a pistol and pointed it casually at the assassin’s head, standing steady as the chopper began its descent. “I’m here for one purpose, Deathstroke. Gotham can go to hell.”
“Yet you made sure it didn’t.” Slade inspected the edge of his sword and sheathed it along his back. “If you get a shot at Batman before I do, you better take it, because I won’t hesitate.”
“You said. Get to your post.” Jason turned away, holstering his pistol, and jumped off the helicopter before it had even touched down. His eyes flicked to the time on his HUD as his soldiers hurried across the rooftop, eager to set up their HQ at long last.
An hour after sunset, the militia already in place, and more forces en route. Behind his mask, a foreign-feeling grin skittered brokenly across his face, pulling at the brand on his cheek. Victory was so, so close.
Bruce Wayne was as good as dead.