[Slade Wilson's POV]

After sending my request to Ghost, the only person who I saw around the warehouse's address during that time period was Tom. He claimed to have been lost but I could hear him lie through his teeth.

I followed him, stalked him from afar and observed my prey. One evening I stalked him to the park and it seems like the perfect opportunity to get him down. I went over to a bar which belonged to an old associate of mine, where I made a deal with the bartender to lace the last shot of whiskey he'd poured for me and a companion that evening.

I went back to the park after making the arrangement with the bartender and approached Tom, where I convinced him to go out for a drink with me and later roofied his drink. I was surprised he held out that long and even tried to move in that state.

Most people would have been knocked out cold before they even realized it. I took him back to the abandoned warehouse, and dropped him on the worn out couch at a section there.

For hours I contemplated killing him, but it wouldn't be fun to kill a kid while he's asleep without him getting the chance to fight for his life as he tries defending himself.

Also I needed to confirm he was really Ghost, it could have just been an unfortunate coincidence that he was at the warehouse's vicinity that evening. I went by his profile and dug into him, but there wasn't any evidence that could link him to Ghost.

I went over to take a leak around the back and coming back, I saw Tom trying to make his way out. He woke way earlier than I had expected, so I grabbed my rope and headed for him.

…

[Tom Hendricks POV]

As I open my eyes, I felt a pounding headache and a strange feeling in my stomach. I could barely remember what happened last night. I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy, like it's weighed down by an invisible force.

I glanced around the room, trying to piece together where I was. It was a small, dimly lit space with peeling wallpaper and old, dusty furniture. It took me a moment to realize that I was on a couch in a section of a warehouse.

Then it all came flooding back to me. I was out drinking the previous night with Fred, and we were having a few drinks at a bar he had recommended. But something was off. The last thing I remember was Fred buying me a shot, and then everything went black.

I felt a wave of panic wash over me but I calmed myself. Did Fred drug me? I shake my head, trying to clear the fog in my brain. I needed to get out of there, figure out what happened.

As I struggle to my feet, I realize that my legs are unsteady, and my vision is still blurry. I stumble over to the front door, my heart racing. I fumble with the lock, my fingers feeling clumsy and slow. Finally, the door opened, and I was hit by a blast of cold air.

Outside, the world was hazy and indistinct, like I was looking at it through a thick fog but the surrounding looked like the warehouse I was asked to work security on.

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I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head when I heard Fred's voice. "Oh, you're up early. I gotta admit, I didn't expect you to be up so soon, not till another two hours at least." He said as he pulled me back inside and threw me on the floor. I was still too weak to do anything.

He sat me on a chair and tied my arms behind my back. I couldn't use my powers because my brain wasn't stable enough to make calculations. At the moment, I felt like a fragile human, so weak and defenseless, almost like a toddler with no fighting spirit.

"What, what did you do to me?" I asked him, trying to piece it all together. It was obvious what he did but I needed to hear from him, 'what if it was a deadly poison and this was the early effects?' I thought to myself.

"Isn't it obvious? I thought you were a smart one." He walked over to my position and leaned downward as he continued. "I roofied your drink Tom, or should I call you Ghost."

That moment my heart sank but I tried my best not to show it. I needed to act like I didn't know the meaning of that name or whom it belonged to.

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and relaxed my tensed muscles. "Why would you call me Ghost? If I remember correctly, Halloween isn't until a few months away." I said, feigning ignorance to his claims.

"Playing innocent are we?" He chuckled as he asked me a rhetorical question.

"I know you are Ghost and I've been paid to eliminate you from the chess board."

My head was finally getting some clearance, as the fog slowly disappeared I could think straight again and my powers were sure to be active again.

"Do you think life is a movie with you as the main character?"

"Excuse me but I don't understand that twisted question of yours." I actually did but it was better to act like I didn’t, unless it'll actually give away my identity.

"You think you can play God by overseeing operations and using pawns to do the actual work without getting your hands dirty," he said, turning around and grabbing two swords as if he was about to perform maintenance on them.

"Honestly Fred, I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, effortlessly creating friction around the rope he had used to tie my hands behind the chair and snapping it without him noticing.

"Stop pretending already. It's getting boring, and I'm itching to kill you so I can move on to my next job," he said, pointing a blade at me. "Also, my name isn't Fred. It's Slade Wilson."

That name sounded familiar, but I couldn't figure out who it belonged to. "I didn't get the chance to dress up because you woke up early. Well, maybe when I'm all dressed up, you'll know who I really am," he said as he pulled out some clothes and armor from a bag.

As soon as I saw the orange and black clothing, it clicked. Slade Wilson was the real name of the mercenary Deathstroke. I had plans for him, but I hadn't intended on meeting him now. Nevertheless, he was here, and I knew that this encounter could end either in my favor or very badly for me.

I sat in my chair, eyes fixed on Deathstroke as he changed into his mission gear. Though I had never seen him in person before, I had heard of his legendary skills and reputation as a deadly assassin. As I watched him dress, I couldn't help but be impressed by the attention to detail and precision that went into his preparations.

I watched as Deathstroke stepped into his combat pants, the lightweight, durable fabric hugging his muscular legs tightly. The reinforced knees and cargo pockets indicated that he was well-prepared for whatever challenges lay ahead.

Next, Deathstroke laced up his combat boots, their soles designed to provide excellent traction on any surface. The boots were sturdy and reliable, just like the man wearing them.

As Deathstroke slipped on his tactical vest, I noticed the various pouches and holsters attached to it. It was clear that he had prepared for any situation that might arise. I was currently in a sticky situation, and Deathstroke impressive arsenal of weapons only made it worse.

Finally, Deathstroke donned his iconic orange and black mask, which covered his entire face except for his right eye. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I looked at the fearsome visage of Deathstroke. I knew that this was a man who was not to be trifled with, and I had to hold back a wide smile that was about to creep across my lips.

As Deathstroke finished getting dressed, he checked his equipment one last time, making sure that everything was in its proper place and ready for action. He turned to me and I couldn't help but say, "Deathstroke."

"Good, you know me. You know what I can do and that I'm not one to be toyed with," he replied, his voice suddenly becoming heavier. He took off his mask, as if he had already made his point with it.

"I'm guessing you believe I'm Ghost, and that you have no choice but to either kill me or torture me until I confess," I said.

"Good, you're aware of your predicament. So start talking or things might get messy soon enough."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and calmed my nerves. Then, I looked the man right in his one good eye and said, "How about this? Let's have a fight. If you beat me, I'll tell you everything I know. But if I win, you have to listen to a proposal of mine."

"That's the spirit," the man said with a wide, psychotic smile. "I doubt you'll be able to cause me any harm, but I accept your challenge."

"Good," I replied, matching his smile. "Shall we begin?"

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