A Deal with Deathstroke, an Offer He Couldn't Refuse

Deep within the Swiss Alps lay an uninhabited region blanketed in snow. Beneath the surface stood a secret base built from steel and reinforced concrete, capable of withstanding a nuclear strike. This was one of the lairs of the world's number-one mercenary, the "Terminator," Deathstroke—Slade Wilson.

In the training room, Slade stood bare-chested, displaying muscles covered in scars yet still as unbreakable as stone. He meticulously wiped down his Promethium Alloy longsword with a piece of deerskin. Its edge was so sharp that it seemed to split even the air itself.

Suddenly—

"!!! WARNING! INTRUSION IN ZONE A! INTRUSION IN ZONE B! INTRUSION IN ZONE C! MAXIMUM SECURITY PROTOCOL OVERRIDDEN BY UNKNOWN CODE! SYSTEM CONTROL LOST!"

The piercing alarm blared through the entire base like the cries of a madman. Red warning lights flashed wildly, casting Slade's weathered face in a blood-red glow.

He abruptly looked up, a beastlike glint erupting from his one good eye. He had designed the base's security system himself. In theory, no one should have been able to breach the first line of defense without alerting him.

Yet when he looked toward the center of the training ground, his pupils suddenly contracted.

A tall black figure had somehow appeared there without a sound. That savage, aggressively designed suit of armor made him seem like a demon god that had stepped out of the deepest nightmare. Even the air around him seemed to grow thick and oppressive because of his presence.

It was Batman, clad in a brand-new Knight armor suit.

Slade slowly rose to his feet, the shock in his heart replaced by an even stronger fighting spirit. He was not surprised that Batman had found this place; after all, the other man was the world's greatest detective. What surprised him was Batman's condition—and... this chilling entrance.

"I thought you'd at least be stuck in a wheelchair for half a year, Bruce." Slade's voice was hoarse and low, carrying undisguised mockery. He sheathed his longsword across his back, folded his arms, and scrutinized the old enemy before him.

Bruce ignored the jab. The blue glow in his electronic lenses did not waver in the slightest. He went straight to the point, his voice filtered through a modulator and as cold as a Siberian wind.

"I need to hire you, Slade."

Slade froze for a moment, then grinned as if he had heard the funniest joke of the century, revealing a mouthful of white teeth. "Ha! Hire me? Batman hiring Deathstroke? Bruce, did getting your spine broken damage your brain too? You want your mortal enemy as your head of security? Aren't you afraid I'll stab you in the back?"

"I need you to assemble a team and clean up Gotham. The targets are Bane and every criminal under his command worth naming. You'll be the overall coordinator. I'll handle the key targets personally." Bruce did not react to the mockery at all. He merely stated the "project requirements."

"Sounds interesting." Slade narrowed his eye, a dangerous gleam flickering within it. "But can you afford my price? You know, I charge by the minute."

Bruce answered calmly, as though reading from a price list.

"Name your price. Fifty million dollars? Eighty million? Or... one hundred million?"

With every number Bruce named, the smile on Slade's face faded a little more. Those figures were astronomical for any mercenary, enough to buy a small country. Yet coming from Batman's mouth, they sounded as casual as the cost of dinner.

When he heard "one hundred million," even the world's number-one mercenary, who valued money as much as life itself, could not help but catch his breath. This was no longer hiring someone. This was fucking throwing money at him—openly insulting the professional worth he took such pride in!

Just as he was about to lose his temper, Bruce revealed his true bargaining chip.

"The money is only the deposit."

"Once the job is done, Wayne Enterprises' most advanced biotech laboratory will use our newest gene therapies and neural regeneration technology..."

Bruce paused. His cold electronic lenses locked onto Slade's single eye as he spoke each word slowly and clearly.

"...to heal your son Jericho Wilson's vocal cords and let him speak again."

"Clang—!!!"

The expensive piece of deerskin slipped from Slade's hand and fell to the floor.

It was as though lightning had struck him. Every muscle in his body tensed instantly! The next second, he lunged in front of Bruce at a speed far beyond human limits. His bloodshot eye stared fixedly at that cold mask, and his voice trembled with overwhelming emotion.

"You... said... what?!"

To heal his son's throat, he had searched for the world's finest doctors and tried countless methods. He had even sought help from mysterious magicians, but every attempt had ended in failure. It had long become his greatest obsession and deepest pain.

Bruce stared back at him coldly, allowing that nearly murderous gaze to bore through his mask.

"I never joke, Slade."

"You may not trust my character, but you have to trust Wayne Enterprises' technological capability and limitless financial resources. To us, this is merely a technically viable project that requires an enormous investment in research and development. And now, I've decided to launch it."

"Accept or refuse? You have three seconds to decide."

A deathly silence fell over the training room.

Slade stared at Bruce, his chest heaving violently. He could feel it—the Batman before him had changed. He was no longer that stubborn lunatic who clung to ridiculous principles and fought him in knightly duels. This man was like the most precise scalpel, mercilessly cutting open Slade's hardest shell and plunging straight into the softest, most vulnerable part of his heart.

This was an offer he could never refuse.

After a long while, Slade slowly took a step back and forced several words through clenched teeth.

"...Deal."

He raised his head. His eye was filled with complicated emotions—fervor, wariness, and a trace of... approval.

"But, Bruce... you've changed."

"You're more like me... than you used to be."