<div class="floatleft">(http://static.comicvine.com/uploads/original/14/147508/4593900-1.jpg)</div><hr/><strong>Name:</strong>? ? ?<br/><strong>Nom de Guerre:</strong>Deathstroke "The Terminator."<br/><strong>Affiliation:</strong>The Highest Bidder.<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Saturday the 17th of October 2015, 20:18 - 20:25<br/><strong>Location:</strong>S.T.A.R Labs, Gotham East.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Superboy, Nightwing, Batwoman, Spoiler.<br/><hr/><br/>Batwoman was fast, he'd give her that - far faster than any other "ordinary human" Vigilante he'd had the displeasure of coming across in his line of work, certainly - but she wasn't fast enough to keep up with him. Not by a long shot; she made a good effort, able to keep pace with him for a few stretches of corridor, but he soon increased his speed up to about twenty miles per hour, and she began to flag...not much, but enough that she couldn't increase her pace to match his...and he began to pull away. Soon enough, he was a good few turns ahead of her, and though she knew where he was headed - it was obvious; there was only one exit point open to him at that point - he was hoping that it wouldn't matter. If he got to his planned escape route, there was no way that she could follow him effectively enough to chase him down before he got away, and all he needed to get there was to get out of the main building and into the Foyer. There were about three planned exit routes for him there, if he could just get to them....he had heard her shout something as he passed - not at him, but more about him, it sounded - and since he doubted she was talking to him, it meant that she had either Eyes In The Sky, or a team on-site...he just needed to hope that her team wasn't in a position to stop him, if she was in fact talking to a team. Of course, if they were able to intercept him...he would maybe get some fun after all. Two, three, four on one? That sounded fair...though who was in that team would influence whether they had enough or if they were, in actual fact, handicapped. Still. For the sake of a quick and easy job, he hoped that he didn't find out. He did so like easy money, almost as much as a decent fight.<br/><br/>Unfortunately - or fortunately, he hadn't quite decided yet - he found that his escape wasn't going to be quite so easy as he had anticipated...as he burst out of the door and back into the Foyer, he skidded to a halt - the force of the sudden deceleration hitting him in the gut like a solid punch that would have knocked any other human flat on their back - and instinctively fell into a ready stance as he faced the man opposite him. Slade's brain did its thing, taking in every detail as quickly as possible, analysing every aspect of the figure standing before him in a fraction of the time it would take a normal human to think through the conclusions, sorting every detail into small, relevant bullet points whilst simultaneously planning out several possible strategies, mapping out the surroundings with extra details from when he passed through earlier, and keeping track of other important information that he needed to make his decision. The man was tall, well-built and handsome with a straight spine and a relaxed, confident posture...the costume seemed to be taking inspiration from a certain well-known ex-hero, and from the relaxed and confident pose...he was a Metahuman. What kind, Deathstroke had no idea, and it grated...but he would find out soon enough, it seemed, if the mans posture was anything to go by. The relaxation indicated confidence in his own abilities, which was either arrogance or the sign of an extremely powerful opponent....he was going to go with the latter. If it was the former and he was wrong, he could adjust his analysis. If it was the latter and he chose the former...he could end up flat on his back, defeated, all because he underestimated his enemy. That was not about to happen. If he overestimated, he had the advantage. If he underestimated, he lost it. Simple. Now...the doors behind the new Mask were crushed together, presumably to keep him in, so evidently this new individual had some degree of super strength.<br/><br/>The doors were nothing Deathstroke couldn't kick through given the chance, but to crush them together required immense strength...how much was his maximum, and how much would it be reduced by the device? Variables he didn't know, and that was both dangerous and infuriating. How fast was this Metahuman, and how much would the device reduce his speed? Again, variables that he didn't know and had to figure out...he could make a dash for it, but if this being was a Speedster, than it was possible that his reduced speed would still be enough to catch Deathstroke long before he reached the entrance. And then he had to think about the rapidly approaching Batwoman; he could hear her footsteps behind him growing ever louder, coming closer and closer to being able to hit him from behind, and with that unknown variable standing right in front of him? He needed to get to a position where he was facing both threats at the same time. And that wasn't even considering the possibility of there being more team members that he didn't know about! He could handle them, he was certain...but even he could be beaten if he was careless. His eyes locked onto his body language, watched the muscles flex and tweak a little, watched the body for any shift in direction or momentum, any kind of out of the ordinary activity and readied his own body for a response. He could think and react ten times faster than any other human alive. He could handle whatever this Mask threw at him, surely. And, provided that he wasn't a super soldier as well or didn't use magic as his power source...he would have a nasty surprise when he didn't move as quickly or hit as hard as he might have expected.<br/><br/>Hopefully, that moment of shock would be enough to give him time to deliver a counterattack...and with any further luck - that he could create, of course; winners made their own luck - that would give him the opening he needed to escape. He reached out and tossed the small wooden crate under his arm onto the floor behind the security desk...he needed both hands to fight, and he had been told that the Cube was completely indestructible by conventional means...so some rough play wasn't forbidden, if necessary. He had been told that the effective range was enough to cover most rooms easily...he just hoped that the Foyer was counted among "most rooms" or, depending on the nature of this Masks abilities, things could have ended up very dicey for Deathstroke. Of course, they very well still could; after the briefest of nods towards him, as if in greeting - the smarmy bastard - and just a moment of calm as they simply looked at each other...the action began.<br/>A horrific, screeching sound ripped through the foyer as nails and metal and plaster all rent and stretched and tore from each other, the sound of nails being dragged down a metallic chalkboard followed by several heavy items hitting the floor, immediately demanding Deathstroke's attention, his head snapping sharply to his left to investigate the source of the sound. He still kept the Mask in the corner of his vision, just in case...but what he saw demanded most of his focus. Somehow, the Mask had ripped one of the large, flashy televisions from its mooring on the wall and sent it hurtling towards him; he hadn't seen any discernible change in the Mask's composure or demeanour, so...telekinesis, most likely. If it was powerful enough to hurl a television of that size at him with as much speed and force as it looked to possess right then, how powerful was his telekinesis normally, without the effect of the Cube dampening his abilities? Or, more disturbingly, was he simply out of range of the Cube? That was a worrying thought. Perhaps he wasn't as safe as he thought he was...he almost hoped that the man opposite him was simply that powerful that the Cube only brought him<em>down</em>to Superhuman levels. That was new, at least.<br/><br/>Still, he had a problem to solve...mainly, a television hurtling towards him. Any normal human would have been hard pressed to get out of the way in time, but luckily for him, Deathstroke was no ordinary human. His brain - as quick and analytical and clever as always - automatically plotted the trajectory and intercept time in only a few seconds, drawing a mental line to where the Television was going to hit...and where he needed to be in order to avoid it effectively. Of course, that wasn't the only problem...immediately to the right of the hurtling television, the confident Mask had leapt to the attack, dashing towards Deathstroke with his arm pulling back for a punch. Was that his top speed, or was he delaying in order to arrive after the television? He didn't know. All he knew was that if this new Mask was looking to close the distance, he was confident in his own strength. Super strength? Possibly. He had a feeling he didn't want to find out. So...he needed to avoid the television, then recover and avoid the punch that was undoubtedly coming towards him, just in case. A tall order, but....he could do it. He thought so, at least. He would find out soon. As soon as his brain finished the necessary calculations, he span to the side, ducking low to the ground as he did so in order to pass under the flying television...if that hit him, it would hurt. A lot. Sure enough, his mental trajectory was correct and the television went sailing harmlessly overhead to crash into the wall next to the now-open door and shattered into several thousand pieces of circuitry and glass. Ironic that it was the hero who ended up doing more damage than the "villain," wasn't it?<br/><br/>Still, he had a follow-up blow to prepare for; he doubted that his opponent would wait for him to set himself, so he needed to be ready. He straightened as he finished his spin, coming to face the direction that the Mask was coming from...and blinked in surprise. The Mask had obviously sped up in the time that he had taken his eye off of him, since he was now about three times closer than Deathstroke had foreseen in his mental calculations. As he straightened up back into a combat crouch in front of the Mask, he saw too late that the heroes fist was already en-route to his gut, quickly picking up speed as the Mask put some obviously considerable force behind it. Avoiding it was impossible now, and he doubted that even he could move quickly enough to parry it entirely...so the only option left was to take it and just try to reduce the impact as much as he could. With any luck, the Cube was dampening this Meta's powers enough that he could take the punch. He didn't even want to think about how powerful he could be normally if this punch was enough to disable<em>him,</em>of all people. His hands came in from their half-guard positions, opening to try and catch and thereby slow down the closing fist...it happened quicker than even Deathstroke could track with his eye, but on replay, it went something like this:<br/>The fist came slipping through Deathstroke's only half-completed guard with a speed that far exceeded any human was capable of, and even though Deathstroke's own hands closed around the wrist and upper forearm in an iron-like grip and pushed back against the impact, the fist still managed to travel into his stomach. The impact was like being kicked by a super-powered kangaroo, even through his armour, and he had to take an involuntary step backwards as he grunted with the force. The pain was sharp, like every punch to the gut is, but thankfully his armour and his own special resilience saved him from what would have been - had he been a normal human - a knock-out punch. His own grab defence likely had something to do with that, too, of course.<br/><br/>He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as the world seemed to pause around them. The punch was a hard one - easily able to rival one of Deathstroke's own - so obviously outside the Dampening Field created by the Cube, this Mask was<em>extremely</em>strong. Strong enough that Deathstroke himself would think twice about taking him on, even with intelligence and preparation on his side. And if that speed was anything to go by...that kid could easily be the next Superman. That thought made him grateful that he had taken the time to activate the Cube, or he likely wouldn't have been standing right then. And then, he did something very, very strange. Something that was, perhaps, not quite what the Mask expected. Tightening his grip, he did his best to stop the hand from leaving his gut...and started laughing. It was a chuckle at first, but it soon grew to be a proper, full-lunged laugh that lasted only a few seconds before it cut off sharply as he looked up at the Mask, his single eye gleaming. At last! A decent fight! "It's been a long time since somebody managed to land a blow on me; congratulations....and my gratitude." He grinned, then, though unless this Mask also happened to have X-Ray Vision as well, he wouldn't have seen it. Pulling his head back, he used his leverage on the Heroes arm to then snap himself forwards, his helmet hurtling right for the Heroes head. Regardless of whether it missed or hit, he didn't waste any time as he then shoved himself away from the Hero sharply and stepped so that his legs clicked together, then his back one arced out and span in a vicious circle, as fast as he could manage, straight at where he estimated the heroes head to be. Oh, don't let that punch be a fluke; it had been so, so very long since he had anything even approaching a worthy opponent. Something told Deathstroke that right at that moment...he didn't have to hold back. And it was a wonderful, wonderful feeling.