[img][/img] [center] [img]https://imgur.com/zajpa3v.jpeg[/img] [h2][color=orange][b]DEATHSTROKE #3[/b][/color][/h2][color=lightgray][sub]Stark Tower, Manhattan, New York | 11:10 PM [b]Previously:[/b] [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5615600]Deathstroke #2[/url][/sub][/color] [/center] [img][/img] Hopper had been staring at the many screens in front of him for the rest of the day, his bearded face one of boredom and exhaustion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever had enough sleep. The young lad had been working as a surveillance operator for the Stark Tower ever since he graduated from college, monitoring and analyzing a variety of footage showcasing many different floors of the multi-storied skyscraper in real time. It wasn’t exactly the kind of gig he wished to pursue as a quantum science graduate, surely, but he had no choice, especially not in this day and age where fresh graduates struggled to find a company willing to give them a chance. For the young Hopper, landing a minor position in Stark Industries seemed like a miracle, considering his resume was either rejected or ignored elsewhere. His burdened eyes were swift to leap between screens, the movement impressively rehearsed, as he absently slurped the cold glass of avocado iced coffee in his grip. Oftentimes, his attention moved towards the smaller screen much closer to him, strategically playing a game of solitaire with an artificial opponent. Hopper clicked the mouse every few seconds, making sure that the cards on the screen were arranged in a systemic order. While he didn’t have the sharpest brain in the world, he’d always found a way to outsmart the computer even on the hardest difficulty. Unfortunately for Hopper, he’d been so fixated on beating the game that he paid no mind to the horrific sights of motionless fellow employees subsequently occupying the other, bigger screens. It seemed that dangers were near, but he stayed oblivious. And, suddenly, the door was knocked. Plenty of times. [b][i]KNOCK…[/i][/b] [b][i]KNOCK…[/i][/b] The noises were heavy yet gradual, almost as though the door was knocked with a stifled force. Initially, Hopper chose to ignore them, but the obnoxious noises wouldn’t go. They grew louder and demanding each time, and he couldn’t bear them anymore. He stood out of his seat, striding towards the door. “One second.” He grabbed and twisted the knob, drawing the metallic panel in his direction. The young lad could’ve only guessed that it was one of his superiors ready to tell him apart for, apparently, not doing his job too well, despite his overworking and lacking sleep. Much to his surprise, however, it was somebody else. A figure much more menacing, covered in mask and tactical armor. The mysterious figure glared through his crimson lens, Hopper’s facial expression instantly dropping in fright. “What the—” [b][i]SMACK![/i][/b] And the figure—better known to the criminal underworld as the [color=orange][b]‘Deathstroke’[/b][/color]—hurled the solid tip of his own lance against his face, not even letting him finish his question. The poor lad’s nose was immediately restructured, crimson fluid spilling out of his nostrils as he toppled on his back unconscious. Like a rag doll, Deathstroke kicked Hopper’s motionless form aside, then fired barrages of energy beams towards each and every monitor across him. [b][i]BLAM![/i][/b] [b][i]BLAM![/i][/b] [b][i]BLAM![/i][/b] [b][i]BLAM![/i][/b] Eventually, he only left the smaller one that was still running the prior solitaire game played by the operator. Approaching the desk, the masked mercenary stowed the energy lance back into the sheath attached to his armored back. He closed the application, then went on to search for the folder containing the records of his brutal yet silent actions within the skyscraper. It took him a moment to scroll through the sea of files named with undecipherable codes, and the only clue that Deathstroke could comprehend was an arrangement of numbers by the end of each file’s name. By the looks of it, the numbers seemed to indicate the date and time when the raw, unfiltered footage was recorded. With that in mind, it should be easier for him to track down the… [color=orange][i]Bingo![/i][/color] …records of himself, supposedly. As expected, once discovered, barely a single one of them depicted his actions as clear as the sky. He always knew to avoid surveillance cameras when necessary, keeping his movements silent and calculated while moving from one floor upon the other. Though, surely, there were some of his victims who were accidentally caught on camera, either reacting to his ambushes or drowning in their own pool of blood. Obviously, he wouldn’t want to leave traces like those behind, preferring to either keep the authority guessing or charging whoever the soaring amateur the Kingpin had trusted to raid along. After deleting every file containing the brutal sights, the masked mercenary pulled his pistol out of its holster, then destroyed both the remaining monitor and the processor each with a moderate [b][i]bang![/i][/b] A crater was formed on each one of them, electric sparks flaring out of their severely leaked forms. [color=orange][i]That should do.[/i][/color] Now that every monitor had been demolished, he should’ve been able to reach the laboratory in peace, not having to worry about getting caught redhanded. Stowing the pistol back into its holster, Deathstroke, once again, drew the energy lance out its sheath, spinning the thin yet lengthy weapon with his gloved fingers. He strengthened his grip around the lance, his gesture making it seemed as though he was holding a rifle. Based on the tower’s blueprint he discovered earlier at the lower floor, there were emergency stairs nearby the control room that could lead him to the back of the laboratory above. The path to the upper floor was long, yet he had no choice since the elevator was positioned far across the control room. Each stride the mercenary drew was silent and deliberate, as he climbed on each and every step ahead of him. Oftentimes, his only functioning eye paced from one side to another, making sure that nobody spotted him before placing his gaze back ahead. So far, nothing was found hampering his path until the other end was near. From a fair distance, he caught the standing form of a security guard facing his opposite, seemingly sporting a forage cap and a neatly kept hair bun. For a moment, she didn’t seem to be alarmed by his presence until… “Hold it right there!” …she turned in his direction, beginning to pull a pistol out of the holster. However, before she could even touch the weapon stowed by her side… [b][i]BLAM![/i][/b] [b][i]CRUSH![/i][/b] …Deathstroke had fired his lance, the burst of energy beam instantly exploding her cranium. The once standing form had now lifelessly tumbled down the stairs, spewing out a massive rain of crimson fluid all over his vicinity. He merely sidestepped towards a handrail, avoiding the headless figure from stumbling across him. The one-eyed mercenary still kept the lance tight in his grip. [color=orange][i]Two more steps to take…[/i][/color] His instincts were telling him to scan his vicinity once the other end was reached. Contrary to most of the floors beneath, the top floor was less busier than the rest, and it was meant to be both the developmental and the testing ground for the latest Stark’s inventions. Thankfully, the surveillance cameras had been switched off, and the prior lady was the only security guard guarding the area. Slowly but surely, the Terminator stowed the lance back into its sheath, preparing a gas grenade formerly tucked under his utility belt. Thankfully, his mask was designed to resist all kinds of hazardous scents, so if the grenade was triggered, he wouldn’t be affected by it at all When activated and thrown, the gas grenade expelled a cloud of fog continuously occupying the laboratory. Noises of coughs and desperate gasps were heard all across the top floor, as the researchers fell atop the floor one by one, being forced to sleep. Deathstroke strolled through the sea of scattering humans, scanning the spacious laboratory serving as a not-showroom. The fog cleared itself, and a row of sophisticated yet underdeveloped armors became apparent. There were also gauntlets, automatic firearms, and iron scraps scattered all over the floor, seemingly leaving the grip of their now unconscious co-developers. A bunch of them did intrigue the Terminator upon discovery, most notably the specially designed gauntlets and missile launchers on the table next to him. There was also a massive prototype of what would be a Proton Cannon, though surely, he wouldn’t have been able to bring the weapon with him due to its sheer size. He inspected the weapons closely through his crimson lens, sky-blue gaze narrowing at the weapons on the table. [color=orange]“Hmm… Well, these look interesting,”[/color] Deathstroke pensively muttered, his gloved hands taking hold of one of the gauntlets. He could now understand why Tony Stark would’ve taken pride in each one of his technological marvels. From the looks of it, the gauntlet was perfectly crafted, its dark silver figure partially painted in blue. There was also an appendage attached to the wrist, containing an array of multiple firearms that could be activated automatically. Not sure about how it functioned, though, but he might like to test it out right there and then, hoping that this one was nearly completed. [color=orange]“Let’s see how this bad boy works…”[/color] And so, Deathstroke wore the slightly larger gauntlet over his gloved hand, reeling his hand upside down to get a better glance at both the wrist-mounted gun and the glimmering palm repulsor capable of firing beams. He seemed more tempted to test out the wrist-mounted gun somehow. Fingers curled, he clenched his metal hand tightly, gradually pointing said gun towards the window across from his upright frame. Firing sparks flared out of the barrel, and rounds of bullets flew through the window, shattering the glass into sharp smithereens. [b][i]BUDDA–BUDDA–BUDDA–BUDDA![/i][/b] [b][i]CLING–CLING–CRACK![/i][/b] It still felt a bit rough around the edge, sure, but it worked just fine. Perhaps, it was time for him to say goodbye to a wide array of conventional firearms in his possession, given that these kinds of technologies offered better practicality. [color=orange]“Mhm… Superior tech, indeed,”[/color] Deathstroke mumbled, an impressed smirk across his veiled face. [color=orange]“I’m taking this bad boy with me.”[/color] He settled an empty duffle bag formerly clinging to his shoulder across the table, ditched the gauntlet around his gloved hand, then began stowing each and every piece of superior technology he could find scattered or showcased nearby—a pair of both the gauntlets and shoulder-mounted missile launchers for himself included. As much as he was tempted to use them immediately, he’d rather keep the stolen weapons of his choice for the next occasions. After all, a number of parts still needed modifying. Once done, the masked mercenary zipped the bag, swiftly slinging its strap over his shoulder. It was time to head back to the Fisk Towers, he believed, letting the ‘Vulture’ take care of the rest. [color=orange]“Good luck with the gig… [i]amateur[/i]!”[/color] Quick yet composed, Deathstroke strode out of the laboratory, subsequently climbing down one stairs to another. When an elevator was reached, he eventually chose to use it as a shortcut to get himself back to the ground floor in no time, eventually heading out of the raided interior and onto his motorcycle parked behind the skyscraper. However, just when he was about to get on the seat and switch the ignition on… [b][i]CLICK![/i][/b] Somebody had loaded and pointed a gun close to his bright orange temple, clad in a similar mask and tactical suit as he stood right beside him. [color=lightblue]“I’ve finally found you, Deathstroke.”[/color] Who could this mysterious person be? [b]FIN.[/b]