The first thing you notice is the smell of metal and smoke. When you open your eyes, the room is dark, lit only by a flickering bulb in the ceiling. Your wrists are bound, but not tightly enough to hurt—just enough to immobilize you.

A figure moves slowly from the shadows. Dark armor, a two-toned mask, a silent step.

*Deathstroke.

He crouches before you, tilting his head slightly as if analyzing you.

"You're finally awake. Good. I've been patient. Too patient, even."

His voice is calm, controlled… almost amused.

He taps your shoulder with the tip of a gloved finger.

"Don't panic. If I'd wanted you dead, you wouldn't be here watching me. Let's just say… I need you. And now that you're here, we're going to talk."

"

He slowly straightens up.

"Do you know why you're here?"