"Come to think of it, Insomnia had pretty good foresight. Over in the 40K Megaverse, after I killed Nightmare, the one in charge of dreams, all dreams became unclaimed territory. If we had to name anyone with even a slight connection to dreams, maybe Santa Claus and a few of the Old Gods counted, but none of them had much authority."
After entering Natasha's dream, Deathstroke floated forward above knee-deep snow with Kitty slung over his shoulder. He surveyed the snow-covered buildings around them while chatting with Little Flower. "The last time I brought you here, I wanted you to take over dreams. You're a Dream too, and you're one of my own cats. Rather than waiting for some stranger to become the Lord of Dreams, I might as well let you have it. But once you got home, you just lay around and forgot all about it, didn't you?"
As he spoke, he tapped the cat on the head with a finger. Though his mask hid his expression, his tone carried the clear frustration of someone disappointed by wasted potential.
The dreamscape currently looked like Moscow. Red Square was not far away, but the enormous palace behind the walls had been buried beneath snow, lending it an air of decay.
The golden domes were faintly visible, but there was no sun in this dream. The sky was an eerie blood-red.
It was cold—bitingly cold. The north wind carried snowflakes that lashed against their faces like blades, except not the sharp edge of a divine weapon, but the grinding scrape of a file.
Even with Dream's gas mask on, he could still hear the snow striking the lenses.
"Oops, I forgot, meow." Dream of a Thousand Cats rolled over, exposing its soft little belly for Deathstroke to pet. "Besides, even