Both of Me.

Basically a series of Slade-Centric oneshots starting some time before season one (but after "GO!") and ending soon after "Things Change".

"Journey with me, into the mind of a maniac, doomed to be a killer since I came out the nut-sack."

Chapter One: Go West, Young Man, Go West.

In a small apartment on the west side of Gotham, a man sat at a cramped desk, sword removed from his back and hung on the chair, handgun in front of him for easy access. Although he frowned, there was no one to see it, nor would anyone have seen it if there had. His eye widened when he heard the figure, but there was something that still gave him pause.

"What do you mean, 'Theatricality'?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was indistinct, almost certainly electronically altered.

"I mean I want them killed with style. None of your usual methods. This has to be grandiose. I want value for money, Deathstroke."

And they were offering a lot of money.

Deathstroke was tempted. Batman had been on his case recently, and although the two were evenly matched, if the Caped Crusader got the drop on him, then it would all be over.

Besides, he'd had enough of the cold. It was time to head out west.

"Very well, I shall accept your offer."

The line went dead. The money would be in his account by morning. It always was. People sometimes complained about his insistence on being paid in advance, until they found out that Deathstroke always delivered.

In truth, he was reluctant take this contract. His targets were a bunch of children. In fact, if it weren't for Grant-

If it weren't for Grant, then he would never even have considered such a dishonourable hit. But, with the boy dead- killed trying to complete this contract- it was, in some twisted way, Deathstroke's responsibility.

He looked in a full-length mirror, and sighed. This look was too well-known, especially for the son of the Bat. He picked up the phone and dialled. It was time to get some new threads.

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Deathstroke shifted, trying to get used to the bulk of the costume. The armour was an improvement, but it meant sacrificing manoeuvrability. He strapped on his sword belt, and reached for the blade. As he was about to attach it to his back, he paused.

If Deathstroke had taken this contract, he would have broken into the targets' home in the dead of night, and delivered their heads to his employer in the morning. But that was not Slade's way. Slade smirked at the irony of his "new" name, and reviewed his new modus operandi. He would be a manipulator, a true Machiavelli, toying with his targets, putting them off guard as to his true objective. In short, classic supervillain fare. Deathstroke would wear a blade- but Slade wouldn't.

His employer wanted 'Theatricality', and, as Deathstroke always delivered, so would Slade.

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The next morning, when Slade left for Jump City, California, Deathstroke stayed behind.

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This is the only way that I can think of that would reconcile Deathstroke with Slade. Tell me what you think, and follow me onward as we walk this twisted road.

Next up: Slade observes his new marks.