DeathstrokeSW Member
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- DeathstrokeSW 12 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
I was joking
Rose's accent should be Australian, yeah. But I'm sure it was an accident. Let's not be too harsh on the poor girl. After all, She does get to leave the "Simulated Bullcrap"
Well, Slade won't oblige, and Thomas....He's off mucking about somewhere. I wonder if YoshiSkittles is on....
First 'Stroke post is up; tell me what you think.
My name is Slade Wilson. I'm the mercenary known as
A man groans in pain as my foot slams into his gut, shattering four ribs. He won't be breathing normally for quite some time. Immediately, his compatriot runs towards me, foolhardy. I turn, drawing and firing my sidearm, a smooth motion honed by more than a decade of experience. The double-tap appearing in his forehead stops him cold. Turning my attention back to the man on the floor, I lift him up by the shirt, his weight almost effortless to my enhanced strength.
"Now, Mr. Draykov, you were telling me the location of my target." I say, the filtered voice coming from my mask terrifying the man. He panics, trying to scream, but failing from his ribs. "I don't know! I swear. He keeps to himself. Only comes by once a month for new jobs." His terrified simpering stops as his face turns red. It wouldn't matter if he did have more to say; he's already told me all he knows. I toss him against the far wall, sending him into unconsciousness.
As I swing my leg over the motorcycle, I activate the handsfree in the mask. It's programmed to dial only one number, and cannot be traced. The line on the other end rings, and when its owner picks up, I speak. "Hey, Rose, it's Dad. Listen, I know you're at the tower, but I'm off work and I'd like you home. I'm cooking."
Despite the innocuous word usage, I speak to my daughter in code. I'm cooking means it's time to come home; training begins. I wait for her reply.
My name is Slade Wilson. I'm a father.
A man groans in pain as my foot slams into his gut, shattering four ribs. He won't be breathing normally for quite some time. Immediately, his compatriot runs towards me, foolhardy. I turn, drawing and firing my sidearm, a smooth motion honed by more than a decade of experience. The double-tap appearing in his forehead stops him cold. Turning my attention back to the man on the floor, I lift him up by the shirt, his weight almost effortless to my enhanced strength.
"Now, Mr. Draykov, you were telling me the location of my target." I say, the filtered voice coming from my mask terrifying the man. He panics, trying to scream, but failing from his ribs. "I don't know! I swear. He keeps to himself. Only comes by once a month for new jobs." His terrified simpering stops as his face turns red. It wouldn't matter if he did have more to say; he's already told me all he knows. I toss him against the far wall, sending him into unconsciousness.
As I swing my leg over the motorcycle, I activate the handsfree in the mask. It's programmed to dial only one number, and cannot be traced. The line on the other end rings, and when its owner picks up, I speak. "Hey, Rose, it's Dad. Listen, I know you're at the tower, but I'm off work and I'd like you home. I'm cooking."
Despite the innocuous word usage, I speak to my daughter in code. I'm cooking means it's time to come home; training begins. I wait for her reply.
My name is Slade Wilson. I'm a father.
Well, once NR approves Slade I'll begin my work with Mr. Wilson. First: kill a minor cape.
Well, if Slade's approved, Rose needs her cellphone. He'll call mid mission.
I can't do jack til NR gets back to me. Well, I could but it'd be another Road to Owlman post.
I told NR I wanted to do Slade from the beginning.
Jesus, man what about Slade?
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