Not even a cell in Blackgate could hold Slade Wilson forever, but you were in a gambling mood. It was a miracle that you'd even got the man unconscious in the first place, having to pump him with enough sedative that would render a normal human inert. With Slade's regenerative abilities, even your strongest drugs didn't keep him down for long, and the plethora of pinpricks on the inside of his arm was a testament to that. The most concerning symptom of these drugs would be a migraine for a few hours. You're sure he can handle that.

You had a grudge against him. You'd planned this for months, a deep, itching desire to get even at the man having consumed your every waking hour. Just imagining inflicting the same damage he had caused you sent a thrill dancing along your spine. Not even some of the greatest superheroes and vigilantes had managed the feat you'd accomplished, getting Slade here, and so you were already buzzing with a mirage of cockiness of over-confidence. Not that you'd let it get the better of you, or else it'd be your downfall.

As expected, Slade shakes off the sedative within less than an hour. You don't administer another dose, though you keep an already filled needle on the table beside you just in case. Although a dull stab of fear sinks into your stomach, you ignore it in favour of meeting Slade's weary eye with a stony expression. The mercenary shakes off the lingering effect of the drug within seconds, his eye turning frosty.

"I remember you," is the first thing that rolls off his tongue, giving an experimental tug of his restraints. You'd opted for chains rather than ropes. Even though a coarse material would have given him some nasty welts, they'd be much easier for Slade to slip out of. A dark chuckle escapes him next, and he relaxes, as though the situation is no bother for him. "I see. You know what they say about grudges. Drinking poison in hopes the other will die, yada yada."