79 Speech 100 #79

Author's note: this is something I wanted to add at the end of the previous cchapter, but I kinda forgot. Anyway, in the last chapter, there was something like a vision in the park about a young man and an older man sparring near a tree. It's not something important or related to the story in any way, so don't over think. It's just a simple refrence; if you get it then thats fine, if you dont, that's also fine. 

...

"Figures..." I grumbled under my breath, processing the thug's words with a nod. "Well, no surprises there. You can catch up on your beauty sleep now," I added, giving him a light tap on the noggin to send him back to dreamland. It seemed I had picked the wrong time to pay a visit to Poison Ivy.

According to Mr. Unwilling Source over here, he and his crew were hired to hunt down Poison Ivy, or so their mysterious employer instructed them. They were nothing more than a ragtag bunch of thugs and mercenaries with no knowledge of each other or their handler beyond the orders they received. 

Their mysterious benefactor would sporadically pop in, doling out missions and doling out hefty paychecks.

Apparently, despite completing several missions, our friend had never once crossed paths with the same crew twice, always finding himself surrounded by fresh faces. The logistics, equipment, and planning were all handled by, well, the elusive handler, of course, leaving them with one simple job: keep quiet and do as they were told.

Curious, I probed for details on how they intended to capture Poison Ivy with nothing but guns and blunt instruments. His response? A shrug and a clueless look. As it turns out, the thugs stationed inside the compound were equipped differently and given separate directives for snagging Ivy. Meanwhile, the crew outside were left to play watchdog.

Funny how even the "watchdogs" were more like well-trained hounds, not nosing around where they shouldn't be. It makes me wonder what kind of big bad wolves they've got on the inside. 

Still, a tough situations just mean more bragging rights once I kick butt and take names and get Ivy in my debt, so I wasn't complaining. There was no point overthinking it; I'll have to roll with the punches.

With that in mind, I strutted into the greenhouse. As I drew closer, the greenery seemed to come alive, but I shrugged it off. It's probably just Poison Ivy's green magic doing its thing. Not really my problem, anyway.

Stepping through the entrance, I had to pause and take it all in. 

The greenhouse was way bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside, more like a mansion than a greenhouse. But here's the kicker: the walls, the furniture—heck, even the floors—were all made of plants, like some kind of organic architecture showpiece.

Lost in the strange scene before me, my enhanced senses suddenly flared, and I had to step aside to dodge as a crossbow bolt, lighting quickly and almost entirely silent, came flying at me from the darkness. 

"Whoa there, sneaky Pete!?" I quipped, squinting into the shadows where the attack originated. "Sneak attacks in the dark? Not cool, dude! Show yourself like a proper villain!"

Responding to my callout, a figure emerged from the darkness. Clad in sleek combat gear and sporting a menacing black and orange mask, he casually tossed aside his crossbow. "Impressive reflexes..." he remarked, eyeing me up and down with a hint of amusement.

I narrowed my eyes, instantly recognizing the figure. "Deathstroke... Are you part of the goon squad trying to nab Poison Ivy?" I asked, not bothering to hide my disdain.

"You got it," Deathstroke confirmed, drawing the katana strapped to his back. "But I'm just here to keep things quiet for... oh, let's say the next seven minutes and thirty-five seconds," he added, checking the time on his digital wristwatch.

With his katana glinting menacingly, Deathstroke took a deliberate step forward, and I instinctively raised my palm in a halting gesture. "Hold it right there," I commanded. "There's no need for us to resort to violence."

Deathstroke paused, his expression betraying a hint of confusion. "And why's that?" he inquired, his tone laced with skepticism.

"Well, I want to rendezvous with Poison Ivy, and you want to prevent that," I explained calmly. "

"It seems we're at a bit of an impasse, doesn't it? Except I'm not in a rush," I continued, shrugging nonchalantly. "I can just wait until your watch is up and stroll right in. After that, our paths need not cross."

Deathstroke's lips twitched into a genuine chuckle. "And if they snag Ivy before my time is up?" he prodded.

I grinned confidently. "Simple. With only one exit, I'll just bide my time here and deal with the goon brigade when they show their faces," I countered. "And if you're still on duty by then, I'll tail them until you're off the clock. Problem solved."

"Quite the strategy, kid..." Deathstroke mused, his amusement palpable. "It doesn't violate the terms of my agreement with the employer either... have it your way then."

"Well, since we've got a bit of time to kill, how about a little chat? Let's start with your name," Deathstroke suggested, sheathing his sword and settling onto the ground with an air of nonchalance.

His demeanor was almost disarming, but I knew better than to let my guard down. In the DC universe, few could match Batman's level of paranoia and combat prowess, but Deathstroke was certainly in that league.

"My name's Micah Foster," I responded, keeping my introduction brief.

"Oh? So you're the one making waves in Gotham lately, right?" Deathstroke remarked, giving me an appraising look. "Are you one of the bat-brats?" 

I shrugged in response. "I don't know about making waves, but no, I'm not one of Batman's 'bat-brats,' as you put it," I clarified, amused by the term.

Curiosity gleamed in Deathstroke's eye as he leaned in slightly. "Then what brings you to Poison Ivy's neck of the woods? Planning to toss her back in Arkham?" he quizzed.

I shook my head. "Nope, I'm not in the 'Justice for Gotham!' camp. I'm too lazy to care about the whole vigilante shtick unless someone's killing civilians right in front of my face," I explained. "As for my business with Ivy, I don't mind sharing if you're interested..."

"I wasn't exactly on the edge of my seat, but now I'm curious," Deathstroke admitted, his tone laced with intrigue. "What's a Bat-buddy like you doing with Poison Ivy?"

I flashed him a grin, loving the chance to spill the beans. "Ever caught wind of Livewire's viral talk show? I'm the mastermind behind that little sensation," I boasted, giving myself a playful pat on the back. "And if you're game, you could be the next big guest star."

The mercenary scratched his head, looking genuinely puzzled. "My kid mentioned it once or twice," he confessed. "But what's Ivy got to do with your talk show?"

I let out a chuckle, relishing the chance to enlighten him. "I came here to ask Ivy to make an appearance..." I quipped, gesturing to myself. "Heck, if you're interested, we'd be thrilled to have you on the show."

Deathstroke pondered the idea, his expression thoughtful. "That does sound intriguing, but I don't have time for such trifles," he declined, his tone firm and to the point.

"Shame, but I've got another proposal if you're interested," I continued, leaning in with a grin. "I run a budding pharmaceutical company, and I'm in need of a top-notch security chief. The job's yours if you want it; just name your price."

Deathstroke shot me a quizzical look. "What kind of company needs a heavy hitter like me to handle their security? Seems like overkill, don't you think?" he mused, amusement coloring his tone. "Plus, with my current status as a wanted criminal, I'm not in the ideal corporte employee," he added, a hint of wryness in his voice.

I let out a sigh at his words. "Well, this isn't your average company. We're talking about a place with the secret sauce for a universal cancer cure," I replied, giving him a level stare. "And as for your legal standing, who said anything about official employment? We're talking off the books here," I added, raising an eyebrow.

"Universal cancer cure? Well, well, well, you're full of surprises," the mercenary remarked, his interest piqued. "Unfortunately, I'm all booked up for the foreseeable future. But I do know someone who might fit the bill for you. I'll arrange a meet-up if you're interested," he offered, his tone businesslike.

"If it's a recommendation from you, I'm all ears," I replied, nodding in agreement. "Just let me know the time and place, and I'll be there."

"No need for that. She'll find you soon enough," Deathstroke said as he rose to his feet. "My shift's up, so I'll take my leave now, so feel free to go wild. But here's a word of advice, kid: tread carefully. The rabbit hole you're diving into goes deeper than you think... I wouldn't jump in blindly if I were you..." he cautioned, striding toward the exit without waiting for a response.