<div class="floatleft">(http://www.eklettica.com/pictures/Illustrations/deathstroke1.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/>It wasn't until he reached the top of the stairs and the beginning of the main corridor back to the Foyer that Deathstroke realised that something was...<em>off</em>about the whole situation. He had triggered the hacked alarm about ten minutes ago at that point, and still there had been no response; unless the "Mask" who planted the extra subroutine was utterly and irrevocably incompetent at their job - which would seem to be at odds with the professionalism and high quality of the hack - or in some way indisposed, they should have been swooping into the facility to try to stop him by now. Even the police department, as woeful as it was in Gotham, had a better response time than ten minutes for serious crimes, especially ones committed against wealthy benefactors. He had heard about something going on at the Central Bank over the Foyer-guards radio before he turned it off (to avoid making too much noise and alerting people to another guard being missing, should they choose to investigate) so if it was serious, that would explain the absence of immediate response vehicles or the sudden interference of Masks, but still...Gotham was rife with criminals and vigilantes, so surely at least one of them wasn't at the Central Bank....and if they were all there, then that was just a stupid allocation of resources and they deserved it when he got away. A single crisis rarely required the attention of every single self-styled hero in the area...and unless Darkseid had returned and teamed up with Braniac, he doubted that you needed twelve heroes to take on one bank robbery. Of course, if they had teamed up, then Deathstroke would need to find out and prepare accordingly. He hated being in the dark. Metaphorically speaking, that was. Of course, the other alternative was that the Mask - or Masks - was already here...in which case, it was now a game of Cat and Mouse.<br/><br/>Make no mistake, Deathstroke was, in this little game, the Cat. He had no doubt that he could handle whoever decided to storm down the corridor towards him, especially with that little box under his arm suppressing the powers of any Metahumans that might have decided to get involved as well. It wouldn't remove them entirely, but it would definitely reduce the strength to a manageable level...and Deathstroke never ignored a potential advantage. It was just not advantageous to charge in without basic preparation and planning; all of his fights, he planned ahead of time, even if it was only a few seconds ahead...those few seconds were likely further ahead than his opponent was thinking - heroes were, by their very nature, reactive agents that had to respond to whatever the "bad guys" did - and in a fight, the person with the best plan and the best idea of how everything was going to happen was going to win nine times out of ten. So...he could be due a loss. But he was looking to make that statistics ten out of ten for him personally; he'd only met a handful of people who could keep up with him in a fight, and he didn't think that he was going to meet his equal today. So...he assumed, for the moment, that a Mask - or Masks - had already arrived and figured out where he was going by simply following the unlocked doors. Seemed sensible. Even the slowest brute of a hero should be able to figure that much out. Now, there was only one corridor that led from the Foyer to the Archives, though it split off into several side-corridors and rooms on the way, and had more than a few turns as it navigated the absurdly laid out laboratories of S.T.A.R Labs...so he had some time. It wasn't until the Mask rounded that corner ahead of him that they would be able to see him, so he had some basic prep-time...but it was best to figure out how much he had, rather than guess.<br/><br/>Ducking into a side-corridor - one directly perpendicular to the staircase leading to The Archives, ending in a door marked "Record Room" - and out of the main hallway, he pressed himself up against the wall tightly, and closed his eye to shut out any visual distractions. He focused on the area around him, straining his ears and his suped-up senses in an effort to determine whether anybody was close by. At first, there was nothing other than the standard sounds you would expect to hear in an empty building at night; the occasional patter of lab rats in their cages, a creak as a door shifted its weight in a slightly uneven frame, the whistling of the wind as a draught blew in from a cracked window several stories up...and nothing else. All was silent. He almost stopped listening and started to open his eye, now convinced that he was alone and was just being paranoid...when he heard it. A small, almost imperceptible shuffle as something scuffed the floor as it passed. He stopped, freezing stock still as he honed in on that sound, now knowing what to listen for...and sure enough, now he knew what to keep an ear out for, he heard it. Foosteps. Muffled, light, almost silent footsteps, but footsteps nonetheless....and they were getting closer. They were moving slowly, being cautious - slowing down and becoming lighter every so often, presumably as the owner checked the doors and alcoves and proceeded cautiously around corners (which was exactly what He would do, were he in their position) - but they were approaching. So....a Mask was here already, and what was more...they were good. Not good enough, of course, but anybody capable of sneaking effectively enough to almost fool<em>his</em>combined instincts and senses? They were worth consideration, at the very least. Of course, now he had the advantage; he knew they were coming, he knew vaguely how far away they were...and they likely didn't know who or where he was, if his hack of the cameras had held up. Either way, though, this was the only hallway that led to where he needed to go. It seemed that a fight was inevitable...good. He'd been itching for a good fight for a while, and if their fight was even half as good as their sneaking, then perhaps it might even be fun.<br/><br/>But, of course, he wasn't just going to sit there and wait for them. Keeping an ear on the approaching, padding footsteps - though he lost them occasionally under the sound of other environmental noises, he always managed to find them again - he hurried across the hallway towards the door on the other side and maybe seven or eight feet away from the alcove he had been slotted into. The door was a nondescript, average looking thing with just a lab number inscribed on the frosted glass and a name next to it at about eye level on the wall...likely nothing of value inside, but that didn't matter; he wasn't here to steal anything not nailed down, he was here for a specific reason, so he couldn't care less what was in the labs he passed...until now, of course. He tried the door quietly, turning the handle as slowly as he deemed necessary to not make any extraneous noise and - thankfully - the door gave way, still unlocked from the Fire Protocol he activated earlier. He stepped inside, knelt on the ground beside the now-open door and fished out one of his flashbangs. It was a spherical device, smooth and silver with only a small button on the seam that held the two halves together that was connected to the internal computer that monitored its fuse and its payload. It wasn't a proper frag grenade - those things attracted way too much attention, and weren't particularly effective against Metahumans anyway - but the flash that it emitted was strong enough to momentarily paralyse even the strongest foe. Though it had never been tested against him, his suppliers assured him that it could even hypothetically stun Superman himself, were he still alive. He didn't know about that, but it should have been enough to blind the Mask creeping down the corridor towards him...unless they were blind. But then, that was a long shot at best. He shouldn't make jokes while he was setting up an ambush.<br/><br/>Pulling on a small tab on the underside of the sphere, he pulled out a small metal stand that projected 90 degrees out from the orb, and wedged that stand between the bottom of the door and the floor, thereby keeping the door open. Not fully so - that would be<em>too</em>suspicious - but only slightly ajar, as if somebody entered the lab and forgot to close the door all the way. If s/he's checking every alcove and watching every door as s/he approaches...an open door would be too risky to not at least watch as she passed. Yes, he could hide in the Lab as s/he passed...but if s/he investigated it for whatever reason, he would be trapped in a room with only one exit. All s/he'd have to do would be to keep him in the room until reinforcements arrived. That didn't sound good to him. So, instead, he pressed the button on top down and held it for three seconds - thereby activating the first of its secondary detonation criteria; it would project an invisible, infra-red beam in a triangular arc across to the other side of the hallway and up to the roof - which he gently adjusted to be pointing at the furthest spot he could towards where the footsteps were approaching from, so that s/he had to trip the beam to be able to see the flashbang at all; even if she only poked her head round - which, when disturbed - by the Mask - would activate the flashbang instantly and produce a massive flash of light accompanied by a loud banging sound, designed to disorient the victim. Once he was happy with the positioning - and just in time, too; the footsteps were almost on top of him - he stood and retreated, slipping back into his little alcove as quietly as he could...and that was just as quietly as the Mask who was approaching. You didn't get to be a world-renown mercenary and assassin without knowing how to sneak around at speed. He shifted his way down the alcove, so that he was out of line of sight of the corridor, and listened carefully as the footsteps rounded the corner and slowly approached the staircase leading to the Archives...once the Flashbang went off, they would be in business.<br/><br/>Seconds trickled slowly past as the Footsteps grew louder - by their standard, anyway; an ordinary human would have missed them entirely, but no matter how hard you tried, your feet would still make the barest of noises - and he could begin to hear the heartbeat of his would-be hunter pounding in their chest, adrenaline no doubt already flowing through their body, readying for the fight they no doubt thought was waiting down those stairs....they slowed slightly again as they came to the door. Deathstroke quietly activated his helmets filter, both the noise-cancelling plugs and the light-filter that slid into place over his eye. He was around the corner and therefore shouldn't be affected...but you could never be too careful with senses as powerful and sensitive as his. Only a few moments more, and...<br/>The flashbang erupted into light and sound, filling the corridor with blinding white light and a no doubt echoing, ringing whine that would give anybody a splitting headache...the sound itself would have incapacitated Deathstroke himself for a few precious minutes, had he not activated his helmets filtration systems (which he now switched off; the flashbang had detonated, meaning that there was no reason to cut off his sense of hearing anymore) but now he took advantage of his supremacy in regards to actually being able to use his senses to their fullest. He wasted no time, accelerating and spinning from his alcove, already at half-speed - he could run and accelerate many, many times faster than an ordinary human...he could run at 30 miles per hour and could get up to speed in a matter of seconds - as he hurtled towards the probably stunned Mask. He didn't know how badly she - because he could see it was a "she" now, dressed in a black get-up that was remarkably similar to Batmans old suit in design and aesthetic...he had done his research before arriving in Gotham, of course, so he connected this Mask instantly to the rumours of a "Female Batman" prowling his old area, which certainly explained the stealth and professionalism if she was trained by the Bat himself.<br/><br/>Deathstroke had only fought him once before his death, but he had been certainly impressed by what he saw...but it also meant that she was likely nowhere near as skilled as Bats, which disappointed him. He was looking forward to a decent fight. Batwoman, as her name was reputed to be, was good, yes...but he doubted that she was good enough. Yes, he had contacted some of the "regular rogues" in Gotham for information, and interrogated a few of the thugs before breaking into S.T.AR Labs since...well, he needed to know who could come to stop him. Of course, that meant that she was not likely to be alone; from what he could gather from the few criminals willing to talk to him (and some of the ones who needed some "persuading") she ran with a small team of other Masks, each of them supposedly very highly skilled...if she was here, there was a good chance that she had brought the rest of the little family as well. Good. They might actually pose a challenge, if taken together. Unfortunately, that wasn't the job; now that he knew who had been approaching, his curiosity was sated and he felt no desire for an easy, boring fight. So. Escape was the prime directive here. Instead of directly attacking or engaging her, as easy as it would have been, that flashbang had been loud...so if her teammates - if she brought them, that was - had been connected to her comms, they would likely have heard the eruption themselves, and increased their pace to link up with her....which meant that he had very limited time to get out of the hallway before they trapped him in. Yes, narrow spaces were excellent for fighting multiple opponents, but they were also excellent places to trap and contain a lone fighter. And since his priority was escape...that would not be good.<br/><br/>Batwoman - yes, he was certain it was her; the description he had extracted from several sources matched closely enough for him to be reasonably certain - was now in the center of the corridor, blocking his advance...well. Blocking an ordinary thiefs advance. Not his. He directed his run towards one of the walls and, just as he reached a few feet away from her, he sprang up into the air, braced one foot on the wall next to her and the other on her shoulder and pushed with both with a good amount of force from his super strength. Not enough to shatter anything - breaking the wall wouldn't help, and he didn't want to kill her; she could evolve into a worthy opponent one day - but enough to push himself forwards and give her a hefty shove in the direction he had just come from as he hit the floor several feet away with his momentum intact, streaking down the corridors at about ten to fifteen miles per hour - going full speed down a twisting hallway was not a good idea, even if he could think nine times faster than anybody else - taking the corners easily as he ran back towards the foyer. Escape was his top priority. If he stopped to fight a sub-par opponent, he risked being boxed in by whoever else she bought with her, and if she didn't, well...she had likely called the police before she advanced into The Archives, and he didn't fancy turning this burglary into a full-on Hero Brawl accompanied by a police shoot out. The good news? Unless she had left people in the Foyer, he was going quickly enough to easily reach it before her team could cut him off, unless they were in possession of their own Speedster. Of course, that was assuming she brought backup at all; if she hadn't, he was home free. He hoped it was the latter; it would make his job so, so much easier.