As the start of the class stretched on Jinny was perhaps the only one to notice as Jinx withdrew. She stayed seated, but here eyes were wide open and bright as she scanned the room. It was clear she could feel that itch on the back of her neck that someone was watching. This wasn’t perhaps unexpected; Jinx wasn’t the only one doing this after all. But the manic sort of energy around the pinkette faded, and she was tensed ready to bolt in an instant.

The only person that Jinx didn’t scrutinize was Jinny, but even then, she wasn’t ignored either. Acknowledged, but set aside mentally.

The soft breaking of the building tension was a boon, no one reacted harshly to Miss Queen’s unveiling.

Jinx herself simply took a deep breath, and flexed her hand for a moment. Soft pink sparks dancing around her fingers. Before she took out a notebook and pencil and started taking attentive notes. But while it was clear that Jinx was not one to slack when it came to learning, it was also clear that she was not one to put herself out there either, or least not one to put herself out there without a potential reward for it.

Jinny took careful notes as the teacher, Miss Queen, spoke on. Despite the general tired feelings of the various students, she managed to hold their attention. There was an energy about her, something like an actress. It made you want to look and listen. But soon enough, the bell was ringing.

"And, that's class! Take care kids, see you tomorrow." Ms. Queen sat back behind her desk, seeming to settle in to do paperwork.

Jinny turned to Jinx, not missing the way the other students avoided her on the the way out the door.

"So..."

Jinx was meticulous when it came to packing her stuff away. Not quite slow, but it was clear that Jinx was in no rush to leave. Though the same could not be said for those others who were sat near her. As beyond Jinny no one seemed willing to risk being near Jinx.

“So?” Jinx would repeat with a raised brow as she started the trek back to their dorm. Her gait was smooth, and controlled. It was almost a strut in truth, but something about it niggled at Jinny. It was slow, not so much that it would be terribly odd. But it felt manufactured, fake, as if Jinx was compensating somehow.

“This more questions about my time? Or were you wanting to cash in your question so soon?” She’d ask with a sly grin. Though most of her attention was outward watching and assessing the other students in the hallways.

Jinny was ready, and actually slightly impatient by the the time Jinx sauntered out the door. She hadn't consciously chosen to wait for the other girl, but curiousity won out. "Yeah, more questions about your time. Also was there anyone else in your class that was decent? And-" One question shoved itself in the front of the line.

"What's with the fashion show? You got new shoes or something?" They looked like everyone else's shoes. But people could be weird about clothes. Jinny could still feel other people's gazes, and it was still novel enough to piss her off. The muttering and whispered conversations... ugh.

"Hang on a sec-" Jinny stomped forward in the best impression of her father and folded her arms. "Do I have something on my face?! No? Well, fuck off then! Go be dumb somewhere else!" She was small, but she knew how to be surprisingly loud.

Jinx would cut a sharp look at Jinny as the shorter girl put forth a fair attempt at intimidation. It didn’t seem to work at first, more stunning those that were looking rather than actually getting them to stop, but a moment later they all suddenly went very pale.

A quick glance back showed that Jinx was smiling a wide, slightly feral, grin. One that was all teeth, her hair seemed to have poofed up as well, but the most notable thing was the deep pink glow that filled her eyes. It only lasted a moment, before her hair de-poofed and the glow faded. But by then, everyone in the hall was doing a good job at trying their best to ignore Jinx and Jinny.

“We can talk back at the room, yeah?” Jinx would say quietly. Though it wasn’t really a question.

Jinx would pick up her pace after that. And Jinny would notice her hand tightening into a fist over the course of the, now short, trip back. By the time they had made it back, Jinx’s knuckles had turned white from how tightly she had been squeezing her fist.

The moment the door locked shut behind the two of them Jinx collapsed into one of the chairs around the small dining table. And was once again massaging her knee forcefully.

“Next time you want to pick a fight in the hallway, wait until I’m not there.” Jinx would bite out through clenched teeth, tossing a glare at Jinny as she did.

Taking a deep breath, Jinx would shake herself and settling down a bit. “To answer the question you did ask, no one in my class was worth noting. I had the best time by a wide margin.” She’d answer at last.

“Any more questions, you’re grabbing me the red bottle in the cabinet next to the fridge if you want answers.”

"Yeah."

Jinny had to take two steps to Jinx's long stride. She was surprised, and confused, at the other girls' reaction. She hadn't been trying to get Jinx into a fight, honestly. They weren't even friends, right? Jinx could just leave. So... why?

After making sure the door was locked and putting away her bag, she watched the grey girl with mild apprehension. Maybe she'd gotten kicked too hard? Where was the infirmary, again? One of the top levels, but that red-haired boy had accidentally torn her map...

"Red bottle? Oh, okay." She had to jump onto the cabinet to reach the second shelf, but soon she was handing it over. "...Do you want some water, too? Or maybe an ice pack? ...do we have ice packs?" Otou-san had taught her to make one out of a wet towel by sticking it in the freezer. An actual infirmary might be faster, though.

Jinx would pop open the bottle and dry swallow two pills from within it before she would speak up again. “I’ve got gel packs in a drawer that work as both heating pack and ice pack. Microwave for heat, freezer for ice.” She’d say before letting out another breath, the tension slipping from her at the same time.

After a second Jinx would hike up her skirt and Jinny would see the faintest sparkle of pink as Jinx ran a finger down her left thigh. A moment later, and the barest of shifting in her seat and Jinx’s leggings would tear apart. It was the softest application of her power that Jinny had seen.

Though that revelation was quickly overshadowed by the sight of Jinx’s knee. It had swollen, badly, it was now slightly wider than her thigh and was an angry cherry red, which stood out starkly with her gray skin. Walking with it must have been agony, but her black leggings, and the length of her skirt, made it easy to miss. So long as she had been walking slowly.

Jinx, upon seeing the state of her leg, just let out a soft hiss, but stayed sitting.

"Oof. Puffy and red means ice pack." With that, she went to look for them. Jinx could hear the sliding of drawers opening and closing, along with faint muttering in English and Japanese.

The triumpant cry came a few seconds later. "見つけた!" Jin came back with the icepack. "Ok, so... I guess I put this in the freezer, and... hm. Do you have any frozen stuff? That way you can put that on there while it's getting cold." She wasn't sure it wasn't just broken.

“Just frozen stir-fry mix.” Jinx would mutter a reply as she carefully probed her knee. After a moment she let out a small sigh of relief. She hadn’t been fully sure herself that it hadn’t been broken, but before now she hadn’t had the time to actually check to make sure.

“You’re weirdly nice you know that?” She would ask as she glanced back at Jinny, only now registering what it was that the younger girl was offering in the first place. “Grabbing the painkillers I figured was just you having more questions. But more then that…” She shrugs.

“Anyway, you got more questions for me?”

"I mean, a few?" Jinny floated up to the fridge and put the ice pack in the back where it would be coldest. Then she removed the bag of stir fry vegetables, and wrapped it in a towel. "What's that thing?" She pointed at the aging game system. "And what's your actual name? I heard Jinx from other people but I probably shouldn't call you that, right?" The makeshift ice pack was held out, casually. "...also I've got the weird part before from... well... everyone." The staring students from her father's class earlier still existed in the back of her mind.

"Never nice, though. That's new!"

Jinx gives Jinny an honestly bewildered look when she brings the makeshift cold pack over. It’s a look that only grows more so when Jinny’s follow up questions are mundane, casual things. Her nonchalance cracks a bit, and for a moment it is painfully clear that Jinx doesn’t quite know what to do in the face of genuine curiosity with no hidden agenda.

But she shakes her head and takes the icepack, the moment of vulnerability tucked away as swiftly as it appeared.

“You can call me Jinx, it’s as much my call sign as it is my name at this point.” She answers brushing aside the kindness in the gesture absently. There is a hint of bitterness in her voice but it is well worn, a hurt long ago enough that it’s unnoticed anymore.

“And of course you’ve gotten weird from everyone. No one here is normal, even if they aren’t taking any of the lower classes.” She rolls her eyes as she levers herself to standing, before hobbling on one leg as best she can over to the couch. Dropping the subject as best she can as she leaves her spot behind.

“I’m surprised you’ve never seen a Game Station. I know that the Station X came out not too long ago, but I didn’t think my GS2 was that old.” She’d snark as she resettled, “But I’m guessing it’s…” She hesitates for a moment, giving Jinny a look. “Deathstroke’s fault. So, go ahead and turn it on and grab the controller. I think I’ve got Fable 7 still in it, which isn’t a bad way to get introduced to gaming.”

Jinny imitated Jinx's look, that scathing, searching stare. She did as she was instructed after a moment and settled on the solo chair near the couch. Mentally, she debated whether or not to tell the truth.

"I mean. Not really?" Jinx was going to find out anyway. What better time to start what she and Otou-san had decided yesterday. "Sensei might have bought me one if I knew it existed. Because it might keep me from taking stuff apart when he was gone. Or building stuff." Fascinated, she watched the opening screen, and idly added. "- and testing it in the backyard."

"...this guy looks like a porcupine."

Slade let out a softly amused huff as he looked at the seemingly innocent Bookshelf before him. It was the second time he had done so, though the first time had been when he was reading over the teacher’s informational packet he had been given when he had finished signing all of the paper work.

Amongst that paper work had been a dossier on the ‘hidden’ rooms of the school. Locations, how to access them, and a short primer on what the rooms were. Had he not been given the list; Slade would have given him maybe a week before he found a majority of them. Or at least found the one’s like where he was headed.

The notecard that had been stuck in the last few pages of his information packet had been simple

"Staff mixer, 10 pm, Lounge Theta. BYOB."

And really Slade had nothing better to do tonight. Might as well introduce himself to those he was now working alongside.

But back to its hidden nature, the reason he had let out an amused huff, and the reason he was so sure he would have found it.

He was currently in the library, a few rows deep, with no clear sightlines to or from this position. Which meant when he reached out to the book titled Easy Speaking 101 and used it to tap out a short sequence while it was still shelved, no one was able to witness the shelf swing back into the wall, revealing a hidden passage way.

‘Still the same sense of humor.’ He would muse as he walked in, the shelf closing behind him. This wasn’t the only entrance to Lounge Theta, but he was aware that this was the entrance that had to be used first to get keyed into the other entrances.

As Lounge Theta was, for all intents and purposes, the staff bar. Oh, it wasn’t called that, and Slade knew that the Headmistress would never admit to it. But that’s what it was. Though considering its location, just off the hearts of campus, with multiple entrances and exits there was a few other uses that it was build for.

But in times of peace, it was for relaxation and mingling, and in this line of work that mostly meant drinking. And the logistics of where to place such amenities that could also work as a secondary command center were limited. Had to be central enough to be of use, but not too central as to be obvious. But he had been taught well, to say nothing of knowing the habits of the designer of this particular place already.

A short hallway, and a flight of stairs later. Slade was walking though the door way, and past a wall of sound, into Lounge Theta. He was, perhaps not the last to arrive, but he also clearly wasn’t the first. Plenty of others staff members were already occupying the large room. The mixer in full swing, with music and conversations aplenty. Enough so that no one really noticed his arrival. Not that he cared just yet.

He made his way through the room with ease, heading towards the bar counter that currently had no tender, and a wide array of different drink choice laid out on top of it. The spoils that everyone else had so far brought. Slade himself added a 32 case of beer and a bottle of top shelf whisky to the mix before turning around to more accurately survey the room.

Nabbing one of the cans he brought he would set to drifting through the party for the moment. Something easier to do then expected, as out of his Tac gear he wasn’t all that attention grabbing. At least not when compared to those with much more active expression of Meta genes.

In the corner furthest from the unmanned bar, the action was picking up. A cheering circle of casually dressed adults marked off the makeshift battle ring. Most of them had drinks in their hand, and were either watching the fight or chatting. New faces and old staff enjoying themselves. A small marker board had been set up, with a paper taped to it. It read simply. “Rules – 1. No killing strikes. 2. No weapons. 3. Don’t fuck up the Lounge. – see Jake for More”

Underneath that, a pair of names were written in red marker.

Pim vs. Queen

A man’s Cajun accented voice floated above the rest. “3 minute mark! Can Pim turn things around, or is Queen gonna take the cash?” This came from Jake, who was marked as such by an absolutely ridiculous gold plated necklace that said “Jake” on it. He also had a microphone and was clearly having the time of his life narrating the makeshift match in a theatrical voice.

The crowd cheered and shifted as one as one of the combatants got shoved to the edge of the circle. Pim was tall, heavily built, and looked like he watched MMA breakdowns on his days off. White, mid-20s, arrogant, a dime a dozen in security and goon work. He was also losing – and not happy about it.

“Hold still!” He declared as he launched a vicious kick at the other occupant of the ring. It seemed that his opponent had other ideas. Monae Queen redirected his attack and momentum with a textbook application of Bagua Zhang, leaving her opponent half stumbling toward the other side. With a teasing smirk, she smacked Pim on the back of the head as he flailed.

“Nahhh!” Laughter echoed through the crowd. Her dreadlocks were pulled back in a ponytail, and she made a red fitted tee, and black leggings look like haute couture. In contrast, she looked calm and almost bored. Again and again, she gracefully dodged and drifted and parried him, to the building amusement of the assembly.

“Aww! You *almost* got me that time.” Nearly sending him to his knees on the floor seemed to be the last straw for Pim. Red-faced, he launched himself at Queen in a brutal sequence.

“Fight me, you bitch!”

“...Fine.” The mocking smile on her face dropped. Queen uncoiled, her counterattack so sudden it was invisible. One moment, Pim was on the attack. The next, he was getting a series of swift strikes in the ribs. The last sent him sailing, ass over ankles, out of the ring.

Jake quickly counted down. “One! Two! Three! Aaand The winner is Miss Queen!” He pulled out a roll of cash and tossed it to Monae, who caught and counted. “What’s the move, cherie? Calling it quits, or double or nothing?”

Monae pursed her lips, briefly, before tossing the cash back. “Double it!”

“OK, you bastards, bitches and baddies! Who wants some walking around money! Who’s got the guts to get the G’s and glory?!”

It was with a bored and casual eye that Slade watched the fight before him. Though he was hardly the only one that would be hesitant to actually call it a fight. Not with the way that Queen seemed to be toying with Pim.

Which honestly wasn’t all that impressive in his mind. Pim was sloppy enough to be called an amateur in Slade’s opinion. He had students in his classes that were better then this chump. Only two to be fair, and one of which he had personally trained. But that was neither here nor there, nor was Slade in any mood to cut Pim any sort of slack.

Queen, admittedly, was at least proving that she was at least a decent fighter. Foundation of Bagua Zhang, with touches of Silat, Tai Chi, and he would put odds on Capoeira as well. Though it was hard to be sure with Pim just being terrible at any sort of striking.

Slade had more or less written off the ‘sparing’ and was about to turn away. When he noticed the shift in tone coming from Queen.

Be even then he was almost too late to watch what came next.

‘Was that seven or eight?’ He mused to himself as the crowed shouted cheers or complaints depending on if they won or lost money on side bets. Not that Slade cared for the money. No, he was much more interested in Queen. He had written this public spectacle off, and not really worth his time. But now he was curious. Did he miss the first kick she launched, because he was already turning away, or was she just that fast?

He wanted to know.

“I’ll accept the fight.” He said, passing off his still unopened can of beer to who ever was next to him, and stepping forward. “Slade Wilson.” He would add as he rolled up his sleeves his attention more on Queen then Jake as he did. Watching and analyzing her.

Various people in the crowd had gone suddenly, and shockingly silent. Staring at Salde as he entered the ring. They were the ones who knew him by name, or even face. But there were enough to catch the attention of those that didn’t.

His next words got everyone’s attention.

“Call sign,” He would give a cruel smile. “Deathstroke.”

Monae Queen was bored.

The fight – if you could even call it that – had left her unsatisfied. A child could have floored that guy. She could have done it in about 20 seconds, but she’d been trying to squeeze some fun out of it. Shame. Once the MC called for the next unlucky contestant, she dialed up the charm. Time to work the crowd.

Tossing her ponytail in an easy manner, she made eye contact with one of the other female teachers and smiled. French Lit – and Cipher Creation – “Madame Paulette! Come on, how about a pas de deux?” She caught the flash of the other woman’s grin, but a shake of the head followed. No dice.

“You – red hat guy – Jackson, from the cafeteria, right? You any good?”

A hearty laugh followed as the hefty man was nudged by his companion. “Baby, the only ring I’m interested in is tomorrow’s donuts.” He raised the bottle of hard lemonade in his hand. “Besides, I’m 4 bottles in, I think I’d fall over before the bets are over!” The crowd laughed and she laughed with them, disappointment disguised behind a grin.

“Aww. Well, save me a donut and we’ll call it even.” Given a thumbs up, she spun to seek a new target.

There were eyes on her.

There always were, but rarely did she get that icy twist in her stomach. Kassy called it “prey-sense” and said that everyone had it. Not just metahumans. Regular humans, even children had it – but many had been taught to ignore that hind brain sense of danger. Any soldier’s sense of it had been honed to a point, and hers in particular to a needle. Always useful for a spy.

Unfortunately, it was near impossible to pinpoint in this crowd. But she felt her senses narrow just before the silence, and the reason stepped forward.

“I’ll accept the fight. Slade Wilson.”

She was being studied like a textbook, and despite knowing she was looking another killer in the eyes, she had to wonder just what he read. The name wasn't familiar, though, so why the shared response? What did they know that she didn't?

“Call sign,” He smiled in a way that straightened her spine and evened her breathing for a brawl. “Deathstroke.”

Oh.

She’d heard the rumors and stories, but no one had paid her enough to make investigating worth the time or trouble. Losing was going to hurt. There was no backing out, though. Cowardice was a stain you couldn’t quite wash out, and she couldn’t lose face when she still had a name to build here.

Allowing her moment of surprise to go unmasked, she nodded her head in respect. And then, a real smile lit her eyes. At least she wouldn’t be bored anymore. “Monae Queen.” Most spies didn’t have chosen call signs – what was the point of secrets if you signed them? “This will be exciting.”

Jake recovered from his surprise, long enough to pep up the crowd. “That is what I’m talking about! A living legend versus a fresh face! 15 seconds. Beers, bets, grab a friend -”

Monae didn’t bother to listen to the rest, but focused in on who was going to be her opponent within a minute. Just because she’d overstretched didn’t mean she wouldn’t go down without a proper show.

The room around the two of them was suddenly very, very, lively. Even people who had written off the fights had been drawn in by the prospect of getting to see The Deathstroke in action. Side bets of all sorts were being placed fast and freely.

The crowed swelled, but the edge of the ring was never crossed. A soft, unspoken awareness that to do so would risk the ire of a Legend, or worse cause him to leave.

The extra eyes, and rowdiness, delayed the fight for an extra handful of seconds. As people jockeyed for a good spot to watch.

But all of that was secondary, or perhaps even tertiary, to Slade. His focus was solidly on the woman before him. And he was sure the same was true for her. His gaze was cold, near apathetic, with only a few stirrings of curiosity in it as he analyzed her. Picking apart the way she held herself, the way her gaze tracked his movements, the way she was preparing herself.

She was good. That much he knew for fact, he might even be willing to say she was excellent. Everything he could tell told him so. But as he settled into a simple stance, somewhere between karate and boxing, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was all she was.

It wasn’t a slight against her, exactly, but the lack of a callsign did speak to her preferred methods of operation. He had spent enough time with Wintergreen to know that being too good could be its own detriment to Spies and Spooks.

Just one reason among many that he never bothered with that line of work too much.

But it did confirm that he had chosen the right choice for trying to get the answer. He doubted she would be honest if he just asked her. But then again, this was the more enjoy able option in the first place. So he doubted he would have bothered trying it any other way regardless.

“You know, I have a simple question for you.” He would say, his voice pitched soft and low. Cutting through to her, and her alone, as the crowed continued to build. Even as the starting timer ticked down in spite of it all. “Was it seven kicks, or eight?”

It was a warning and a taunt all in one.

One Monae had only a scant pair of moments to process. As on the tail end of his private question Jake called out to all to hear, “Aaaand GO!!!”

And with speed that seemed to fly in the face of Slade’s size, he blitzed towards her, faster by far then Pim could ever hope to move. His eye locked onto her, his smile promising pain.

Monae could feel herself being analyzed, the attention wholly different from the growing crowd. For a spy, someone looking too long was a bad sign. In this case, there was no helping it. Might as well make it work. Slowly, deliberately, she stretched her arms upward, showing off her body. Turning herself this way and that, subtly flexing calves and abs, displaying herself like a rare gem. If Deathstroke was so hungry for data, she might as well give that blue eye a feast. Their gazes locked as she gave back was she was given. His clothing was casual and downright plain, but the fabric and cut were quality. There’d be more give and flexibility than it would seem. He’d be able to fight. She discarded the information for the time being. Musculature? Sturdy, but his movement was just too fluid for his frame. Nothing she didn’t know. Confidence? Overwhelming, if that smile was any indication.

She could use that.

The energy was just reaching the perfect pitch. Cheers, whistles, bets and boos. She was warm, the stage was set, the audience was prepped. All that was left was -

“You know, I have a simple question for you.”

Monae raised her brows in silent response. Did she read as such an amateur that he thought he could throw her off before the curtain rose?

“Was it seven kicks, or eight?”

“GO!”

Downbeat.

And dance.

It seemed he was coming to get his answer the old fashioned way. The space between them splintered and shortened, and she let him get close enough to check his hands for calluses. His display was genuinely impressive. Clean, no frills, a soldier’s two-step – but he was faster than she expected for a man his size. He leapt her test kick from the ground and kept coming. Her dodge was almost too late. Almost. On the outside, it looked like she was simply being outclassed.

Monae was driven back from center stage until she could feel jeers on the back of her neck. Just as it seemed like she would be shoved out of the ring entirely, she chose to pick up the tempo.

The strike that should have sent her into the crowd hit air as she hit the ground a blink too early. She didn’t stay there, though. With fluid grace, her body arced up into a blurring whirl of capoiera. Ba gua was fun, but she was rusty and it was too restrictive for a real opponent. Now she needed to actually get going. Some of the crowd wouldn’t be able to see too much. It was too small of an arena to hit her full speed, but this would be enough to take a man who was used to winning off guard. So many people underestimated how useful being willing to fail on command really was.

Once she’d attacked back to center stage, she pivoted to a single hand stand. Her other hand set under her eye, middle finger tucked under her thumb and the rest spread. It had been eight kicks. He had asked, and she answered him a taunting grin before righting herself and continuing the duel.

Monae Queen had long mastered how to make something hard look easy, and something simple look staggeringly complex. The world was a stage, and the curtain was up. It wouldn't be any fun to give it all away at once.

If Slade Wilson thought those eight kicks were the best she had, it would be a true pleasure to correct him.

‘Capoeira. Called it.’

The thought flitted through Slade’s mind as he swayed back out of the first of his opponent’s twirling dervish of kicks. His next back steps were clean and economical. He was ceding ground sure, but no one who was watching could claim he was retreating.

Because he wasn’t. He was simply giving her room to show what she could do. He challenged her to a fight for a reason after all.

But that didn’t stop him from shooting her a patronizing smile when he recognized her glib answer. He might not be the most prolific at Sign, but her knew enough to read her ‘8’ masked as a taunt.

A heartbeat later their fight resumed. Slade dashing in, a low kick aimed at her wrist. It was a friendly fight for sure, so he wouldn’t kill her. But a light maiming wasn’t off the table; after all, at this point if it happened, she deserved it.

And from there the fight was a master class in both contrasts, and technique.

Slade was nothing but sharp straight lines of movement. Jagged and fast. Always at the edge of Queen’s range unless he was diving in with strikes or kicks. And even then, the risk of getting hit didn’t deter him all that much. He was more than willing to trade blows if it looked like he might score a solid reprisal in turn.

Queen, on the other hand, was an endlessly flow of looping winding movements. Never still, never static as she danced around the ring. Her stance ever shifting as she glided around the blows raining down on her, but never once was she flat footed.

It went on at this unreal, almost breakneck, pace for a solid minute. Neither letting the pace slow or the other rest.

Then Slade upped the pressure. From the outside it wasn’t enough for anyone to really notice.

But to Queen? Those almost hits, those near misses and last moment dodges, started becoming less show, and more fact. As Slade slowly, sadistically, zeroed in on her upper band of speed. And started edging her out of it. Inch by inch.

He wasn’t breathing hard, and was barely working up a sweat. And while he would admit to enjoying this surprise turn of events, what with actually finding a halfway competent combatant. It was time to bring it to a close.

She was good, that was confirmed. She was even excellent, that was the surprise.

But that’s all she was.

The noise of the crowd rose with her heart rate as the duel display continued. Monae's smile slipped away as she found Deathstroke slowly, but steadily upping the tempo. At this pace, at this speed, if she didn't start picking up her heels, he would outpace her. It wouldn't take more than a minute, if that.

Perfect.

She kept her speed just even with his, taking a few glancing blows that would've hurt if she let them connect. All the while she kept trying to get around his side, for an opening that continued to be countered. On the outside, it was very clear who was going to win.

He hadn't won yet though.

It took no end of skill and a bit of luck to survive in the criminal underworld. Being a name so well known was fantastic, but it created it's own set of problems. Specifically, pieces and parts of yourself carried and announced you to strangers that you would never seen. A weapon, a look, a personality flaw... like a bad temper or a dangerous ego. Even Monae had heard of his arrogance. Of course Deathstroke thought he would win, he'd done little else in life. Of course, it was just a matter of waiting out the lesser combatant, until the moment came when he was superior- because he always had been.

So the moment their paces met, when he was moving faster than her... that wasn't a surprise at all. Monae was overtaken.

The one thing winners never expected was how much work it took to keep yourself in second place. Good but not great. Just on the edge of the spotlight. But she had years of experience in toeing the line, and in a blink she brought them to bear.

Deathstroke outsped her, and she stopped short. In a split second display of years of progress and precision, she wound up just when she knew he couldn't reverse in time.

Monae blurred, winding into a full compasso, her leg a sudden whip of force and power that she directed straight into Deathstroke's face.

When she felt bone give under her heel, she smiled.

He was still going to win.

But she'd make him suffer for it first.