Slade was stark naked, with only shampoo suds covering his private parts.
There was only one reason he hadn't attacked immediately: he needed someone to tell him what was happening outside.
Communications were down, and the internet had no signal either. Clearly, all of Gotham had been turned upside down while he slept.
"So, who can..."
Before he could finish, a bullet struck his chest.
Deathstroke stopped rubbing his hair and looked down at the wound spurting blood from his chest.
"Come on, that really hurts..."
A barrage of gunfire answered him.
With their crimes exposed, the punks stopped holding back. They treated the unfortunate homeowner as target practice and emptied their magazines into him.
Under the impact of the bullets, Slade's body writhed and twitched like a lump of batter, yet he simply wouldn't fall.
Only when the last bullet had been fired did terror appear on the thieves' faces.
"He... seems impossible to kill?"
"Fuck, this is seriously messed up!"
Deathstroke pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth and snapped it in half.
"You little brats ready for a loving whipping from Daddy?"
As the words left his mouth, Deathstroke strode forward, grabbed a gun barrel with one hand and shoved it aside, then plunged the broken toothbrush into the first unlucky bastard's temple.
A shot hit him in the back. He turned with a savage grin and slit the shooter's throat.
The third challenger charged with a dagger. He blocked it one-handed and drove the toothbrush through the man's right eye.
"Kid, now we match!"
The brutal slaughter shattered the petty thieves' nerve. Amid the spraying blood, the survivors screamed and crowded toward the door.
Deathstroke hurled the toothbrush, piercing two throats in one throw, then leisurely picked up a handgun, inserted a magazine, and aimed at