In a pitch-black alley, the faint gleam of moving armor tangled with an even deeper, thicker fog.
In an instant, the gray mist condensed into a human figure at the end of the alley. The scraping of armor ceased, replaced by heavy footsteps splashing through puddles that had not yet dried, each soft sound like a death warrant.
"Deathstroke?"
"That is indeed your deathstroke."
The moment the words fell, a flash of steel cut through the darkness. Schiller vanished from where he stood and reappeared behind the figure.
"Who hired you?"
"You don't need to know that."
"Looks like you're very confident in your professional standards."
Schiller flashed away again, dodging two darts. Then, facing Deathstroke, he said:
"You shouldn't kill me."
"I can kill anyone, as long as someone can afford the price."
Schiller held out a hand, and a flame sprang to life in his palm.
"Whoever your employer is, he's paying you the wrong price."
Deathstroke was silent for less than a second before turning and walking away.
"Indeed. Goodbye."
"How do you deal with an employer who deceives you?"
"Depends."
"Kill him. I'll pay."
"You don't have that much money."
"The richest man in the world will settle the bill."
"Goodbye."
Schiller watched the armored figure disappear at the end of Gotham's streets within a few breaths. He thought that his enemies truly had some skill if they could hire Deathstroke to kill him.
The repeated flashes had drained quite a bit of Schiller's strength. No car could enter an alley this deep, so he decided to walk back slowly and call for a ride once he reached the cathedral.
He turned out of an alley onto the main street, then looked back and noticed some movement at the far end of it.
At that moment,