Since the beginning of his macabre career as a mercenary, Slade could proudly claim that he had never failed a single mission. Or at least, his only failure had been against the Titans, who, at the time, had defeated him thanks to their group cohesion. That was the only exception. Deathstroke remained a name known for his professionalism and his ability to always fulfill his requests.

Today, too, had gone smoothly. At first. He infiltrated the home of a dishonest politician's family and eliminated those involved in their shady program. Their fresh blood still ran down his blade as he pulled it out from the flesh of his last victim. Death’s familiar silence reigned in the building.

Slade didn’t particularly know the reasons that pushed his client to order the assassination of his targets. He wasn’t paid to ask questions, only to complete the mission.

Doubt was a poison. A venom that could bring down even the strongest man. Sometimes, he managed to keep it from growing too much, to silence its moral voice. Not always.

A noise. His fingers gripped the handle of his sword as he turned. His eye landed on the new figure. A witness. That wasn’t good. As he tried to think, Slade noticed the glassy look in the person’s eyes—blind. Slowly, he approached the blind person. His boots stuck to the ground due to the blood on his soles.

Normally, he was supposed to neutralize witnesses or find some way to leave before the situation escalated. The voice of doubt buzzed loudly in his head.

“Who are you?” he began, cautiously. Very quickly, he understood that the blind witness must have been part of the family he had just decimated, without being among his targets. “You should leave. And quickly.”

Slade didn’t feel particularly guilty, but the lost and faded gaze of the other person almost stopped him from being as cold as usual. After all, someone who hadn’t even seen the scene couldn’t be a danger to him, or to his client.