Post by Deleted on Dec 15, 2015 21:29:06 GMT -5
As the bulk of his recent business took place in Blüdhaven, Slade hadn't seen 'Arkham City' in person yet. The urban environment meant he was able to slip inside the prison quite easily, but with several helicopters conducting what looked like routine patrols of the area, staying hidden would be the more difficult part. Prisons were usually off limits when it came to wetwork, getting inside, completing the job and getting out unscathed were tall orders for even the most experienced killers. The unique nature of Arkham City, however, made these streets more of a lucrative business opportunity than a confined death trap.
Clad in his signature promethium mesh armor, Slade crouched atop the roof of a tall run down apartment building as he took in the lay of the land and observed his surroundings. The smell of smoke. The heat of raging fires. The screams of prisoners being beaten or killed. The assassin scoffed. The primary goal of a prison was to rehabilitate inmates for an eventual release back into society. The people who constructed Arkham City didn't have rehabilitation on their minds. This was a place where the dregs of society could be brushed aside and swept under the rug. The only enforcement Slade could see were the helicopters occasionally buzzing overhead, illuminating the streets with a spotlight and shouting "desist" through a loudspeaker. The welfare of prisoners wasn't a concern here. Incapacitation was the goal. Often a means to a permanent end.
Still, the infamous 'Iceberg Lounge' was located here. Perhaps Cobblepot would have work available? Word on the street said that Bane was now operating out of Arkham too. Of course, The Joker's seemingly endless army of goons took up residence in these walls as well, led by Harley Quinn. There were even rumors that the League of Assassins may have a foothold in Arkham City. It was a war zone, with death being commonplace... And death was how Slade made his living.
With one last check that his gear was in working order, Deathstroke made his way down a fire escape, dropped into an alley below and walked out in the open streets of Arkham City.
Clad in his signature promethium mesh armor, Slade crouched atop the roof of a tall run down apartment building as he took in the lay of the land and observed his surroundings. The smell of smoke. The heat of raging fires. The screams of prisoners being beaten or killed. The assassin scoffed. The primary goal of a prison was to rehabilitate inmates for an eventual release back into society. The people who constructed Arkham City didn't have rehabilitation on their minds. This was a place where the dregs of society could be brushed aside and swept under the rug. The only enforcement Slade could see were the helicopters occasionally buzzing overhead, illuminating the streets with a spotlight and shouting "desist" through a loudspeaker. The welfare of prisoners wasn't a concern here. Incapacitation was the goal. Often a means to a permanent end.
Still, the infamous 'Iceberg Lounge' was located here. Perhaps Cobblepot would have work available? Word on the street said that Bane was now operating out of Arkham too. Of course, The Joker's seemingly endless army of goons took up residence in these walls as well, led by Harley Quinn. There were even rumors that the League of Assassins may have a foothold in Arkham City. It was a war zone, with death being commonplace... And death was how Slade made his living.
With one last check that his gear was in working order, Deathstroke made his way down a fire escape, dropped into an alley below and walked out in the open streets of Arkham City.
