This is the final chapter of this story! Before I begin, I'd like to point out that there may have been some physical impossibilities with the last chapter. Well, it's Slade with the Carnage suit. Nothing is impossible.
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Tom Harrison sat in his office in the White House late at night. He was still waiting for a call from Deathstroke reporting a mission success.
Because the Terminator never failed a contract. Never.
He still shuddered at the necessity of using a mercenary like that. But the Azulas had been ripping Washington apart, and the government's hands were tied. This one shipment would have sent half the population of D.C. into an addicted state.
The phone rang. Harrison picked it up.
"Mr. Harrison? There's a Mr... uh, Deathstroke, on the line."
"Put him through," Harrison said quickly. "Terminator? How went the mission?"
There was silence for a moment. Harrison waited, a feeling or trepidation forming.
"It went well," came the Terminator's voice. "I destroyed the shipment. You'll be hearing about it in the news." There was a pause. "I also destroyed the entire Azula clan. You won't have to worry about Alfred Alonzo or the rest anymore."
Harrison felt a jolt in his stomach.
"What?" he whispered. He heard laughter. "That wasn't part of your contract!"
"Don't worry, Mr. Secretary," Deathstroke said. "I won't bill you. It was... a decision on my part. All you owe me is the fee we agreed upon. But you will owe me in future."
"'Owe you?!'" Harrison repeated. "How?"
"There's a certain phone number you have in your contact list," Deathstroke said. "Never mind how I know it. It begins with eight-five-one. You know the one I mean?"
"How... yes, I know the one."
"Good. Put in a good word for me, will you? See you."
Harrison heard a click as the Terminator hung up. He felt cold sweat on his upper lip as he put the phone on the receiver. He considered what he had just heard.
Harrison picked the phone up again, ringing up the number that the Terminator had mentioned. He waited while it rang. Finally, someone answered.
"Hi, put me through to your boss," he said hastily. "I need to speak to him, now." He waited a few more minutes, then he heard, "yes, Harrison?"
"Mr. Luther?" he said, trying to keep his voice even. "There's something I need to tell you about..."
Slade sat in his office, staring at the vials. Now he wasn't thinking of questions. He was reflecting of the memories the suit had shown him.
Spider-Man's entire life up until his battle with the one called Gladiator. It was all bared before Slade. It perhaps wasn't enough, but it showed Slade clearly what Spider-Man was made of.
Spider-Man... Peter Parker. He is made of stronger stuff than Robin, or Terra. Too strong to turn, perhaps. But then, we all have our breaking points. And certainly, he missed Aunt May, and Mary Jane, and all of the rest... that could be his shatterpoint.
Slade remembered Spider-Man's recollection of the crushing grip of the Green Goblin, Norman Osborne. Osborne had apparently killed Spider-Man, just as he himself had perished. That could also be a weapon.
But he wanted to know more. He needed to know more about Spider-Man, the final months of his life, the turning points.
The memory of Venom, however, was vivid and strong. And that was where Slade would start.
The buzzer on Slade's desk went off. He pressed a button.
"Sir, the young man you asked to see is here."
"Show him in."
The door opened, and in walked Wintergreen, followed by a tall young man dressed in drab clothes, completely nondescript except for the red mask that covered his entire head.
"The Red Hood, sir," Wintergreen announced, before leaving. Slade gestured Hood to sit down.
"So, you're the Robin reject," Slade said. Hood laughed.
"More like, arch-nemesis," he said. His voice had a tinge of the Joker's insanity about it, due to his long time in tutelage under him. "But words are meaningless."
"So I'll cut to the chase then," Slade said, holding the red vial up. "How'd you like to destroy the Teen Titans utterly? How'd you like to become Carnage?"
Slade saw a smile curl the edges of the mask. He was hooked. Things were going very well indeed.
Thank you, and good night.