There was a countdown slowly ticking in the back of Slade’s mind as he pushed and pushed. It started from the moment he started edging her out of her element. A count down to when the fight would be won.

Slade was legendary in the underworld. That was undisputed fact. But not many people sat down and considered just what it meant. Slade had been a known entity for over two decades. And was widely considered one of the most dangerous people on the planet.

Most in that position would coast. Let their reputation speak for itself and just live off the fame and the easy proceeds.

But that’s not why Slade became a legend.

It was because the man just never seemed to stop working. Day after day, week after week, for years upon years. In the underworld, in a certain price range of jobs, the risk of running into him was never zero.

So yes, he was known. It would be impossible to not know of him. But for all his pride and arrogance, it also meant that Slade had decades of battle honed and blood stained experience.

‘Zero’

The counter ran out. And Slade nearly pulled off a move that would have turned blood to ice for all watching. He came to a dead stop. Beyond the understanding and expectations of Monae, Slade nearly, nearly, reversed in time.

The reason he failed. The reason his nose still broke, even if it was nowhere near as damaging as it would have been to take it at full force?

Because he had not accurately read Monae. She was faster than he had guessed.

He knew she had more. Everyone has more, and this was a showcase match. Only a fool shows off everything when it’s not life or death. But no one likes to get shown up. And when pride is on the line everyone becomes a fool.

No one watching here would catch just what happened in this quarter second show down. The true depth of mastery shown in this blink. None but the two of them.

So as he felt the cartilage in his nose give way. His gaze locked onto his opponent. And he let his thoughts go cold. Let his thoughts sear this moment into memory. Because she wasn’t just excellent. She was much more then that. And he knew he hadn’t heard of her before.

In the next instant Deathstroke lashed out. Seemingly unphased by the broken and bleeding wound. One hand clamped down on her ankle, the other flowing up to strike her inner thigh to deaden the leg. It flowed seamlessly into a turn and an over the shoulder throw.

Straight towards the nearest wall.

The distance was too far for her to actually hit it. Deathstroke knew she’d be able to regain control in the air, after all, but the dead leg wouldn’t let her move freely. And so, he prepped to follow after her. Finish her off in the corner.

But then the roar of the crowd came back into focus. And he had to bite back a grimace.

Because pride makes fools of everyone. And he is no exception.

“RIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGG OOOOOOOOOOOOUT!” Jake’s call rose above the sound of the crowd.

He might have said more but Slade tuned him out. His gazed still locked onto Monae Queen. It wasn’t hard to tell he was disappointed in how the fight ended by the look in his eye. His gaze was bright, and awake, and ever so slightly baying for her blood.

His attention was broken at last as he caught the roll of cash tossed at him. He didn’t even bother to count it before he pocketed it.

“That’s all from me for tonight I think.” He would drawl to the onlookers, as he reached up and set his nose with one hand. Not flinching at the pain that he must be experiencing, from the sound of it cracking back into place if nothing else.

And then he wonders off. Mainly to find a rag to clean up his own blood, but no one else knows that.

The second after her foot made contact with Deathstroke’s nose, Monae knew that she’d slipped up. It was a clean hit, all things considered. He had been braced for it though, delivering a split second master class of muscle control and timing. She couldn’t deny it was damn impressive. If he hadn’t done that, she could have knocked him clear off his feet. But that was part of the problem.

Between the pain and the rage, the full weight of an experienced predator locked onto her. Something else came with that ice cold single stare.

Surprise.

The list of living souls who could boast that they made Deathstroke bleed was likely very short and impressive. Big name capes, nasty Underground personas, people who even she would hesitate to tackle without a plan and a paycheck.

Monae Queen had not been on that list before. Or anyone’s list, for that matter. She’d just come out of nowhere and added herself to it, in front of at least twenty half-drunk witnesses. As far as hiding information went, 1 was the optimal number of witnesses. You could bribe or threaten or erase one person. Anything upwards of 4 was tenuous. But a crowd? This was permanent. Nothing was going to make it go away.

Time seemed to stretch out as she understood the weight of her actions. The relative anonymity of her name had been erased for good. That was the major purpose of this deep cover alias in the first place. To go in an unknown, to get the sort of information that couldn’t be accessed anywhere besides people’s lips. Being a nobody was worth it to get what she’d been working for. It was bad, but not completely ruined. All she had to do was lose.

So she let her guard down just enough. Struggled too little when Deathstroke struck out, didn’t fight enough when he struck a nasty blow to her and sent her sailing. She let gravity and training win out, landing in a low crouch and calculating how to feint injury. Maybe if she let him beat her around a little, she could worm out of things with nothing vital broken.

“RIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGG OOOOOOOOOOOOUT!” Jake’s call rose above the sound of the crowd.

Or maybe she’d be saved by the bell, so to speak. Monae heard the crowd swell in disappointment or elation, money changing hands, conversations and rumors spark. But Deathstroke was still staring at her, and she couldn’t look away.

She dipped into a dancer’s curtsy, her weight borne on the injured leg that was just starting to buzz with pain. Her head bowed, one performer’s respect to another. And she put on a smile, because no audience ever wanted to see behind the curtain. She watched him take the money, speak something to the ground. Reach up and set his nose, and stalk off.

Hopefully it would be enough.

“Whew!” She stood, not faking the slight wince of pain as she walked back to the crowd. “Damn, that was brutal. I think I’m done. I’ll see you lovely folks at the bar.”

The evening wasn’t done, though. Monae didn’t have to get her own drinks for the rest of the night. Like bees in a hive, people showed at her table as the night wore on. They came bearing drinks and food. Congratulations, condolences, social smiles and job offers. It wasn’t quite the way she’d meant to get things started, but any spy knew that plans were just guidelines and the world would keep turning. Mistakes could still be profitable if you knew how to use what you had.

She didn’t leave until well past midnight, laden with future work.

-

In the morning, a small wrapped basket was delivered outside of Slade Wilson’s door. Fresh, chocolate coated fruit of all kinds, straight from the school cafeteria. Along with it was a printed notecard. “Thanks for the match. Best loss I’ve ever had - MQ”