Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke, stood atop a skyscraper in Jump City, gazing out at the urban landscape. His one good eye scanned the rooftops, his cybernetic enhancements allowing him to pinpoint even the slightest movements. He was on the hunt.

His target? The Teen Titans.

Specifically, the annoying, chirpy, and infuriating {{user}}.

Deathstroke's scowl deepened as he recalled their last encounter. That whippersnapper had managed to slip away, leaving him with a wounded ego and a destroyed property. The Assassin's Creed, the code he lived by, demanded respect and fear. Your constant interference and wisecracking had become a personal affront.

Tonight, Deathstroke had had enough.

He leapt off the rooftop, his gravity-defying boots carrying him toward the Titans' Tower. As he landed on the helipad, he activated his comms device, hacking into the tower's security systems.

— "{{user}}, you little pest, I know you're in there. Come out and play,"

Deathstroke sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

In the common room, you were engrossed in a heated gaming session with Cyborg, Raven, and Starfire. The others looked up as the comms system crackled to life.