Death Sentence [Deathstroke, Stenet, Luhtor]

[Deleted]

[Takes Place During & After Dorothy thread]

The internet had no constraints, and for those with knowledge of the dark web, their truly were infinite amounts of opportunities to be had. Edward Nigma announcement that was posted on the dark web in the moment he had taken the Scarecrow’s phone and showed the picture of the older Asian woman to Dr. Stenet had been quickly made. Normally, Edward Nigma made his request outrageous in designs and riddles. They would catch the attention of everyone, but only the elite would actually have the ability to decipher them to what he really wanted.

This announcement was a far cry from that perfection.

There were no riddles or designs, and everyone who had access to the dark web soon saw the display.

No words.

Only a picture that had obviously been pulled off of some social media account of an elderly Asian woman and underneath an amount. $2,000,000

If the post hadn't been put up under his tag name, Riddle-me-this?, no one would have even realized that this was the request of the Riddler.

The Riddler, aka Edward Nigma, had put a hit on some random woman in Northern California, and the web took it up like a flame. People reposted it on other sites, starting a discussion on who this woman was and why the Riddler was willing to pay such a high price for her death. It went viral spreading from small time criminals to large time criminals, and soon, anyone who had wifi and any interest in the criminal world, knew about this poor woman in California that would likely be dead before the weeks end.

The only riddle left was….who would be the person to kill her?


[Note: Edward will not be in California. He will still be in Gotham, likely moping in his warehouse, so he will not be physically involved in the thread.]

[Nina Stenet]

For nearly thirty years, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Stenet has been a small, single family home in the suburbs of northern California. It's the home that Nina and her siblings grew up in, and though the couple has heavily debated the question of whether or not to sell the place in favor of a smaller residence since their children have left the nest and Mr. Stenet retired, but finding a place to their liking within their budget and close to their two children who remained nearby has proved to be problematic. Not that it's been an especially troublesome issue - they do, after all, enjoy the quiet little neighborhood and the house itself. It's just a bit big for two.

Blissfully unaware of the threat to her life, Mrs. Stenet would have a hard time believing it if someone told her. She is, after all, not the sort of person that anyone would want to kill, generally speaking. Oh, she's bold and opinionated and has an independent streak a mile wide, but she's hardly one to step on anyone's toes hard enough to convince them to consider murder. That her daughter could nevertheless put her in the cross-hairs isn't something that she could really consider either, mostly because she has no idea what Nina has been doing with herself lately. Ever since the girl moved clear across the country to attend the university in Gotham, her daughter has only kept in touch just often enough to reassure her mother that she's still alive and hasn't really kept anyone updated on what she's doing.

Not that she's completely unaware that her daughter hasn't been leading a boring life. There was that month a couple years ago when they were told that she'd been murdered, after all, and to find out it wasn't true had naturally been a huge shock. And then there was all that trouble with the FBI, and somehow Nina had ended up staying with her relatives in Japan for awhile - she never really was clear on the details of that. She'd even had to hear through the grapevine that her daughter had ended up in the hospital after nearly being stabbed to death rather than being told directly. So naturally, she has a great deal of concern for whatever it is that Nina has gotten herself into, but when her daughter doesn't seem interested in allowing her to get involved at all, what can she do? The apple has simply not fallen very far from the tree, she supposes - now she has some idea of what her own mother must have felt when she ran off to the United States all those years ago. Of course, she never either pretended to be murdered or nearly was murdered - her only sin was marrying an American without her parent's permission.

So she's dealt with that situation as best she can, by keeping an eye out for any change in things that would allow her the opportunity to get involved somehow, and in the meantime try not to worry herself too much about it. After all, she has a hard time picturing Nina getting herself into anything that she can't get herself back out of. In fact, her daughter isn't really on her mind at all at the moment. Because right now she's out on the patio, enjoying the sunny spring weather in a comfortable lounge chair while immersing herself in the beginning of a very thick novel she's been meaning to read for a rather long while.

[Deleted]

Slade had been watching her for a few days. Something wasn't right here. He'd been paid handsome sums of money like this before, but that was for much more difficult jobs. Drug lords, militia leaders, mob bosses... But putting this bounty on the head of an elderly woman? He knew Edward Nigma placed the contract on the woman's head, and he knew that Nigma was no fool. So why would he offer such a large reward for a job that even the most inexperienced amateur could carry out?

"There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there?" Deathstroke mumbled as he lowered his binoculars. One of the houses down the street was empty, the family must've been on vacation or something, and Slade had made it a temporary headquarters of sorts while he was carrying out the job. He'd only been back in Gotham for a couple of days before the hit was brought to his attention, and he didn't take the job for the money, he took it because he was curious.

Slade wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over to a briefcase set on a table across the room. He carefully entered a combination into the lock and popped the case open, revealing a disassembled sniper rifle. As he went to work putting his weapon together, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Was this woman associated with the mob? Was she some kind of spy? No. She couldn't be. Slade put the finishing touches on his rifle, attaching the long-ranged scope and loading the gun for the kill shot. 

As he strolled over to the window and looked through the scope, he could see how comfortable she was sitting out on her patio with her book in hand. She was completely oblivious to the fact that the most dangerous assassin in the world now had her in his sights. It was near impossible that she had ties to any sort of shady dealings. She was far too relaxed. Not a care in the world. This woman wasn't anything. She was just a civilian. Completely innocent. Nigma wanted to send a message to someone. That had to be it. But whatever The Riddler was up to, Slade didn't want to trouble himself with the details.

Deathstroke adjusted his position, ensuring the cross hair was right over the woman's head. This had to be quick. She didn't deserve to suffer, and he'd need to be out of the area before anyone knew what was going on. "It's nothin' personal..." Slade whispered as his finger began to squeeze the trigger.

"It's just business."

Deathstroke pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out.

[Nina Stenet]

Perhaps after all the other things that have happened, Mrs. Stenet shouldn't have been surprised when she heard that Nina was now working with LexCorp. Still, she was - not that she had any strong feeling one way or the other about the company before, but she'd gotten the distinct impression that Nina didn't like it at all. And now she's working with them? The girl must have changed her mind. And, once again, not told her mother about it - making her have to find out another way.

Now, if she knew that her life was currently under threat by the world's most dangerous assassin, she wouldn't be very much more afraid for her life than she is right now. Yes, she'd have plenty more worries floating around in the back of her head, but she certainly wouldn't feel like she's in much danger now. And rightly so - she really doesn't have anything she needs to be immediately concerned with other than trying to keep the plotlines in this novel straight.

Though the shot is fired, Mrs. Stenet doesn't react to it at all - unaware that it's even taken place. Because though the bullet flies as straight and true as one can expect from such a skilled marksman, it fails to hit her. Though there's nothing wrong with the bullet or the gun and nothing causes it to deviate from its course, it doesn't touch her and she continues to read her novel uninterrupted.

[Deleted]

Deathstroke pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out.

Then... nothing.

The elderly woman didn't slump over. She didn't even flinch. She just kept reading her book, as relaxed as ever. "Thought so." he mumbled as he continued to watch the woman through the scope of his rifle. Just as he'd thought, this was far too easy to just be a simple hit. Slade knew the gun wasn't faulty, and he knew the bullet had fired, so what happened? The assassin let out a frustrated sigh as he set the rifle down on the table again. There was no point in firing a second time. He hadn't missed. It was a definite kill shot. Other forces were clearly at work here.

How best to approach this situation? As would be expected in a unique situation such as this one, Slade's mind was now in overdrive. He had to consider every possible way to carry this out. Was the old woman a metahuman? He couldn't be sure. She hadn't reacted to the shot at all. He wasn't even sure if she noticed it. No. Surely she would've reacted to the shot if she knew it was coming. But there she was, basking in the sun and engrossing herself in the novel that she was reading.

Maybe there was a metahuman or someone else with unique abilities around. Maybe he or she was watching over this woman, making sure she was safe from harm. "Heh... Son of a bitch." Deathstroke chuckled as he thought about the other poor suckers who were no doubt trying to take down this mark. They'd probably be all over the place soon. Two million was a lot of money. He wasn't going to be here when they arrived, and he didn't intend for this woman to be alive then either.

Slade reached around to his back and drew his sword. If there was someone else in the area... Or if this old woman was more than she let on, this was no doubt the best way to reveal it. A direct approach would surely draw out anyone keeping an eye on her, and she'd need to defend herself if she was able to. It was better for him this way. He'd always preferred hand to hand combat. It'd be easier to confirm the kill once he was done.

Slade cracked his neck from side to side then took a deep breath as he opened the front door of the house. She hadn't moved yet. He could still see her across and down the street, still nonchalantly flipping through the pages of her book.

This was it.

In a split second, Slade began to dash down the street, heading directly toward the front of his target's house.

[Deleted]

Nestled in the hills of California, the house appeared completely normal. Further investigation as evidenced by boot to the door only confirmed that suspicion. The door flew open without any resistance the lock itself only served to provide a sense of security against random burglars, the wandering children of the neighborhood, and perhaps those that knew no better. Deathstroke was of course a professional, and he had to know that this was too easy. Speed, but also professionalism, guided him. There were no traps. No stunning little surprises. Plants hung in nook, skylights let the natural California in. The house was energy conscious, with south facing windows, good insulation, and it looked like the kitchen has been redone very recently. There was a modern style to the house many beautiful windows, clean lines, healthy California living. There was a garden outside, asparagus and tomatoes thriving in the warm weather. The paint inside was tasteful. Someone had referred to a color wheel, hours have been spent with paint chips, this was a house tended with care.

Several photos on the wall served to create a strange juxtaposition between the murderous intent of this home invader, and the all too normal life of those that live within. But no smell of food filled this house. the sunny interior only served to eliminate the sharp corners of a house empty for at least 1 week if the dust was anything to go by. There was no noise, except for the breeze through the trees audible through the now broken window . The family here was well read, they had interests in many suburban hobbies, they loved animals, they loved their daughter, and they appeared long gone.

A single sound, A crack. A clink. the sound of ice melting in a glass, the sound of it being drunk from, the room was an open plan, no doors, open access, visible from any direction. No trap, no surprises, none that could be seen. Slade was a professional, possibly one of the most dangerous people on the planet. He would not have been caught so easily. and therefore when he found nothing it meant there was nothing. Nothing, of course, but the sound of ice melting in a glass. And of course the man holding it. The bald-headed features of a once and future employer, dark tie and dark suit, leaning back in the chair holding a Collins glass. He sat casually, just waiting. " I appreciate the clean lines of the architecture. I've always enjoyed the modern look, it's something that inspires much of my own design. There's something to be said for a mixture of clean line and light. Much nicer than the mess of tile and mud let make up that atrocious California mission style that's so popular. Honestly, if I have one criticism of your target, it's that she clutters things too much. that wall would be well-suited with fewer plants. And while I appreciate the importance of family, do we really need all of the pictures? I think not." he left his drink settle in his glass, Slade knew it was his normal cognac, in some ways Luthor was a man of habit. Nevertheless, he was full of surprises. " $2,000,000, for the death of a single housewife, I'm not surprised that you took the contract Mr Slade. I'm not surprised that Eddie Nigma put out the contract either, he does have a tendency towards sentiment. I'm impressed with his dedication, it's a significant investment for him. Still, as always Mr Slade, one cannot fault your efficacy or speed. Were it not for an unfortunate mix of other elements I would not have had opportunity to intervene. Indeed, it just serves to remind me why I employ you so often, you simply are the best at what you do."

[Deleted]

Slade had always hated the unexpected. You couldn't plan for the unexpected, and lack of preparation can lead to complications. Complications like the one sitting in front of him right now. 

"Luthor."

On the outside, Deathstroke was as calm and collected as ever. He had to be. After all, Lex Luthor was a man he'd done business with in the past. However, on the inside, his blood was boiling. For the first time in forever, he felt like the ball wasn't in his court. This entire situation was out of his hands. What was Luthor doing here? What did he want? Slade knew this wasn't a normal hit the moment he took the job, but he didn't expect to come face to face with Lex Luthor at his target's home. Looking around, he saw that nothing was here. Nothing at all. The house was empty. It finally clicked. He was just a pawn in some elaborate game of chess all along.

The assassin sheathed his blade. 

He needed to know what was going on.

"You were waiting for me." 

If it had been anyone else, Slade would've had half a mind to spill their guts then and there. But not Luthor. He liked working for him. Lex was a powerful and influential man, and Slade knew how important it was to have someone like him on his side. Anyway, he had the lingering feeling that Luthor might also be about to offer him another business proposition. Maybe this wasn't a complete waste of time after all.

"Tell me why you're here."

[Deleted]

"I wasn't waiting for you, in particular, Major, although I knew someone like you would come. . . and if not, well. I'm not out much in cost or opportunity. Nor am I really here at the moment. . . although I do like to put a personal touch when it comes to professional courtesy. I have nothing but respect for your work, and I do like to keep things civil." He again holds the cognac glass, letting the ice melt slightly. He shakes his head as he says. 

"Your target was just an unfortunate victim of circumstance, I regret to say. Not that it matters much to you about the why of your targets, nor should it, as a professional. Unfortunately you've become part of the worst sort of contract. . . one based on a personal matter. A lover's squabble. " He shakes his head in a way that Slade would understand. Frankly there were advantages to working for Luthor, he paid well and early, provided appropriate materiel support, and of course often only called Slade for professional reasons. Indeed, if a single word could be used to outline the previous interactions between the two men, it would be professional. Solid work for solid pay, very few unforseen complications, none of those silly double cross attempts that highlight the hallmarks of a passionate amateur. Luthor's personal enemies tended towards the more extreme end of the scale, and Slade was not often called for direct action against them. "Predictable, unfortunately, the first target when seeking to break someone is to find their loved ones, and put . . . pressure . . . on them."

"Unfortunately, it seeks to compromise a very potentially important asset of mine, one I actually believe in the long term will probably be of significant benefit for you as well, although that's unfortunately going to take some development." He smiles as he continues "and while I understand Mr. Nigma's unfortunate heartbreak and personal ego, I regret that my business must come before his pleasure. . . Normally I wouldn't negotiate this personally, I'd let the assassin believe he succeeded, let them gather the not insignificant investment that Mr. Nigma has placed into the affair. . . but of course . . . that wouldn't work for you, would it? You'd see through things, instantly. . . so here I am. . . to negotiate. From a position of respect between professionals, civilly in honor of a worthwhile and mutual history." 

[Deleted]

"I consider myself to be a professional, but it doesn't matter what I think... What matters is that people like you see me as a professional. Employers. Past, present and future." Slade glanced around the room, as cautious as ever. He didn't feel like he was in any danger, but today had been full of surprises. He didn't want to be caught off-guard again. It was unbecoming of him.

"I’ve worked in some of the most hostile environments this world has to offer... I’ve dealt with some of the most dangerous people on the face of this earth, and I make sure that people know and understand that. This image. This reputation. It’s everything to me.” Deathstroke reached up with one hand and pulled his mask back, revealing his face. He breathed in the dry air of the house and adjusted his eyepatch, glaring down at Luthor with a cold stare. ”What you’re asking me to do is walk out of this house. To leave that woman sitting on her porch safe and sound. You’d lead Nigma to believe that the hit was carried out and I’d collect my reward, yes?”

Slade let out a soft chuckle under his breath. ”The thing is, I didn’t take this job for the money. I took it because I was curious. I believed there was more to this than met the eye... And here you are.” The assassin continued to look down at Luthor, who hadn’t flinched since their conversation began. ”I didn’t earn this reputation by leaving jobs unfinished, Mr. Luthor. You’re well aware of that... And if I’m not in this for the money, that puts us both in a very awkward position. If you were anyone else, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now.” Deathstroke slowly walked over to an armchair opposite Luthor and took a seat. ”I’d ask what you could offer me, Luthor, but I already know you’re a resourceful man. So if you want to negotiate, then please, I’m all ears.”

[Deleted]

"I would be more than willing to let him believe the hit was made, but more importantly, you've fulfilled the terms of your contract adequately. You see. . . I read the contract, and while there is a firm implication at play, the placement of a photograph and a monetary amount does not actually, in any sense of the world, create a contract." He settles in again looking at the Terminator across from him. "You've made contact, you've shot the woman. There's video evidence of her falling down and dying from the hit." He gestures to the wall and the woman walking down the hall carrying plates stops suddenly, slammed into the wall by an impact of a bullet wound, collapsing to the ground, plates shattering, blood smear along the wall, a growing pool of blood as she lays dead. 

"Perhaps not exactly a perfect simulcarum to the professional observer, but any abnormalities can be waived away as limitations of the video technology. . . " He smiles as he cocks his head saying "You've more than fulfilled the instructions left to you in this. . . shoddy contract. Indeed, one could argue that the contract was merely for a photograph, and we're offering video evidence. Not bad for a . . . well, it's not even a contract, is it? Just a suggestion for a certain sort of person. If Eddie wishes to contest the prize, well. . . I'm more than happy to honor his bounty, and of course if he were to wish to complain among your compatriots, it suggests more about him than anything else, wouldn't you say?" He puts his fingertips together and stares at Deathstroke, a more professional and straightforward tone of voice. 

"This, on the other hand, is an actual contract. . . should you wish to accept it. . . a little outside your normal purview, but I want to put you on retainer to protect some of my assets should the need arise. . . here's my contract. . . I will give you $30 million dollars. . . for a year of retainer.  . . plus an additional $2 million dollars bonus per intervention I request on you. . . plus expenses and equipment. . . I believe that anyone who wishes to question your professionalism can respect that offer. You are, after all, a professional, and not a quixotic crusader interested only in death on the cheap. You're driven by curiosity, and frankly, I hope I've fulfilled your curiosity. It's a lover's spat that I normally wouldn't involve myself in, were it not for the fact that Dr. Stenet is now, very firmly. . . an asset I require."