Issue #26: "Strategy"

“I never tried to be a mercenary or a killer but a hard working fighter.”
Larry Holmes

“Long live death, long live war, long live the cursed mercenary." - Mercenary marching cadence and toast

Beast Boy had had an audience. A number of people had watched his antics by remote spy camera. They stood or sat around in shadow, watching the replay on a small movie screen.

“I fail to understand why the Titans sent their least effective member to capture the escaping bank robbers,” one of the shadowy figures said.

“They are only ordinary men, and he is a meta-human,” another pointed out.

The next voice that spoke was deep, yet smooth and commanding. “You are underestimating him, as so many do. The Titans count on that. Beast Boy’s abilities as a changeling make him an unpredictable asset in combat; his humor also hides lateral thinking, which is what makes him so dangerous. I would hesitate to say he was their ‘least effective member. But even if so, then their ‘least effective member is still ten times more dangerous than you anticipate.” The voice paused, then added grudgingly, “I suppose I should be grateful you don’t consider Nightwing to be their ‘least effective member, despite the fact that he is an ‘ordinary man’.”

There was a moment of frozen pause, as none of the red-robed men around him knew what to say. Finally, one of them said, “Such tactical insight is one of the reasons we need you, Deathstroke.”

Deathstroke the Terminator sat casually, almost languidly, in his chair. “Still hurting from that whole mess with Eclipso?” he asked.

A hiss of frustration went through the figures, but their leader made a dismissive gesture. “It is true that the assault on Challenger’s Mountain did not result in all that we had hoped. But we agree with you that the Titans are a threat to our security.”

“And not the Justice League?” Deathstroke asked mildly.

Now there was a dry chuckle from several of the figures. “The Justice League deals with cosmic threats. Our surreptitious nature has kept us off their radar.”

“I seem to recall them going after some sort of magical confidence trickster recently,” Deathstroke commented.

“Yes, because that conspiracy altered luck worldwide, and thus the perpetrators were exposed. We do not like to call such direct attention to ourselves.”

Beneath his mask, the mercenary raised an eyebrow. Between their robes and hoods, their worldwide network of bases, and their attack on Challenger’s Mountain, he thought the HIVE was drawing plenty of attention to themselves. But there was no point in saying so.

“We do not know the reasons for your previous clashes with the Titans,” the voice went on. “Nor do we need to know.”

“That’s right, you don’t.” Deathstroke agreed.

“Er, yes. In any event, you have shown your ability to defeat them. What we wish to do is hire you to capture as many of them alive as possible, and bring them to us.”

“For experimentation?”

“In some cases, in others we merely wish to see to the deaths ourselves. Oh, and if you can capture the former member Speedy, we will pay extra for that as well.”

“Certainly, but why?”

“We used to run a drug ring operation that one of his....relatives ran afoul of. It wounded him psychologically, but did not destroy him as we had hoped.”

Deathstroke shifted in his chair. “You already know his identity?”

The HIVE leader gave a roguish chuckle, echoed by several around him. “Some heroes identities are easier to discern than others. We used it to hit at him through his relation, as we said. But now require a more direct approach.”

“And that’s what you need me for,” Deathstroke said.

“Need is perhaps too strong a word. But it would be much better with you, than without you.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult,” Deathstroke said, his voice frigid. “If you’ve done your research on me, then you know I require cash on the barrel.”

The HIVE leader gestured to his followers, and they brought out two briefcases, which they opened.

“You are welcome to count it,” the HIVE leader said. “Triple that will be yours when the operation is successfully completed.”

Deathstroke nodded thoughtfully, still counting. “You realize this will take some time to organize and put together.”

“You have until they come after us,” the HIVE leader replied simply.

“And you anticipate, correctly, that it won’t be soon.....and taking appropriate preventative measures,” Deathstroke said, something like grudging approval in his voice.

“By hiring the expert,” the HIVE leader agreed.

“All right, all right, you’ve convinced me,” Deathstroke said. “You’ll hear back from me in two weeks about my general strategy. I’m not simply going to take them on head to head. That would involve killing them outright, which is not what you want, and it’s a matter of personal pride to me to take as many of them alive as I can.”

“You can, of course, use the money we have given you to recruit a team to face them,” the HIVE leader said.

Deathstroke shook his head. He was annoyed that the HIVE would presume to lecture him on strategy, especially when they had hired him for that purpose, but he quelled it. They had paid more than enough. “That would have the same problems as if I confronted them myself. No, a super villain team is not ideal. But an agent or spy...a confederate of some sort, perhaps. Let me think on it.”

“Of course. We have every confidence you will be able to take them.”

Deathstroke smiled beneath his mask. “Your confidence is not misplaced.”

“Welcome back, sir,” Wintergreen said. “I trust your meeting with the HIVE went well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Deathstroke agreed, pulling his mask off and revealing the man he really was; Slade Wilson, in the latter half of middle age, and bone-tired. His regenerative powers could keep him healthy, keep him alive, and presumably keep him going for decades upon decades beyond the natural lifespan (or so he believed), but that did not keep the weight of memories from his mind, or the weight of years from his bones.

“You will be going after the Titans, then?”

“Yes, indeed. But I’m going to have to be circumspect about this. It’s not simply a matter of attacking.”

“I would think you’ve been circumspect with them ever since you decided to help build their new Tower,” Wintergreen said.

Deathstroke let loose a wry chuckle. “I suppose you could say that. But this time, it has to be the last time. This time I’m going to capture as many of them as I can--perhaps killing one or two if I must--and deliver them to the HIVE. This game must end, but it must end right.”

“Your tea, sir,” Wintergreen said. “I trust you have a plan?”

“Working on it,” Deathstroke agreed. “Set up the obstacle course, will you? I need a work out.”

“Twenty minutes, sir,” Wintergreen bowed.

Kid Flash and Raven sat in her room again.

The silence was slowly becoming awkward.

Their relationship had solidified since they had fought off the alien consciousness, there was no doubt of that; and as Raven had pointed out at the time, they had reached a very deep level of intimacy when she had allowed him into her soul self to help fight off the alien.

But for all that, they were unsure whether they wanted to....consumate..their relationship. It was not a question of Kid Flash being pushy and Raven resisting him; nor was it an issue of Rachel luring him on and Wally hanging back. They were equally nervous, equally unsure. Each had thought about it, each to some degree wanted it, but each was also nervous about the implications and potential consequences.

For Raven, it made her life as an empath all the more complicated. For Kid Flash, it might conflict with everything he had going on back at home in his own life, outside the Titans.

So they sat in Raven’s room, holding hands.

“Rachel,” Wally asked. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel admitted. “Just....hold me Wallace. Just hold me.”

“That I can do,” he said, and gladly did.

They did not speak for a long time.

Dagon climbed the stairs from the basement onto the main floor of Titans Tower. It was dark enough outside now, for him to be safe.

The others walked around him, talking and laughing. Beast Boy even cracked a joke at him, and Dagon in turn congratulated him on capturing the bank robbers that morning. He had missed out on that case, but of course he had heard them talking about it. Being on the “night shift” meant he missed some things, of course.

It also meant he saw other things no one else did. But he took no particular pride in that.

He sat with the others, and talked to Donna a little bit. She was kind, but distant. Not that he thought he had any chance with her, mind you; it was just that, even now, they were all a little wary of him.

And who could blame them? Such was his life. Unlife. Whatever.

But whatever came, he would help them.

Where else did he have to go?