The rusted steel beams of the warehouse groaned under Gotham's suffocating damp night. Condensation dripped from broken overhead pipes, each drop smacking the cracked concrete like a slow, deliberate countdown. Erick Costa — Forge — hung upside down in the high shadows, magnetic boots locked to corroded metal. His helmet visor painted faint thermal trails across the darkness, mapping every deliberate step Slade Wilson took below. The Exterminator moved like a predator who already knew the kill was coming.
Erick tracked him with cold precision: weight shifted forward for silence, subtle hip adjustments betraying constant readiness. Those senses wouldn't miss much longer.
He's going to smell me any second now, Erick thought, pulse steady despite the adrenaline. Good. That's exactly when the trap snaps shut.
He thumbed the internal comms. Voice flat. Commanding.
"Artemis. Out. Right fucking now."
Her reply came fast, edged with worry she couldn't quite hide.
"I can stay high, cover you—"
"No. He'll feel your heartbeat before he feels mine. Move. Trust me."
A beat of silence. Then the soft scrape of boots retreating across the roof, gone.
Erick exhaled once. She was clear. Time to hunt the hunter.
The memory hit him like muscle memory, pulling him back just long enough to remember why he was dangling here like bait.
Flashback — A few hours earlier
Erick crouched alone on the warehouse roof under a bruised Gotham sky. Right hand pressed flat against the cold, rusted side of the industrial water tank. Blue light bled from his palm, threading intricate runes across the metal like glowing veins under skin. The arcane energy thrummed low and patient—contained fury waiting for release.
Artemis ghosted up behind him, steps silent on wet gravel.
"It ready?" she asked, voice tight.
Erick kept his eyes on the spreading runes.
"Yeah. Locked and primed."
He pulled his hand away. The glow retreated to a faint heartbeat pulse.
End of flashback
Back in the now.
Erick drifted silently along the ceiling beams until he was directly above Slade. The Exterminator prowled below, already coiling for the ambush he thought was his.
Erick's lips curled under the helmet.
With a thought, the magnetic locks released.
He dropped like a guillotine blade—silent, vertical, lethal.
Slade's instincts screamed. He twisted at the last heartbeat, body sliding sideways in a blur that should have been impossible.
Erick slammed into concrete. Rolled hard—shoulder eating the impact, legs snapping back under him. He exploded upright in the same motion, repulsor shield flaring brilliant blue across his left arm, stance wide and ready.
Slade stood five meters away, sword still sheathed, head cocked like he was mildly disappointed.
Erick spoke first—voice modulator making it colder, sharper.
"I really thought you'd be more of a fucking challenge."
Slade's laugh was short, ugly, full of teeth.
"Little boy… don't make me lose my temper this early. Tonight ends with your skull open on this floor. You really wanna waste what little time you've got left mouthing off?"
He took one deliberate step forward, gloved fingers brushing the hilt of his sword like a lover.
Erick didn't flinch. Instead he let his shoulders drop, posture deliberately loose, almost lazy. Then he started circling—slow, predatory steps around Slade, forcing the older man to turn with him.
Slade let him. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"You're underestimating me, Wilson," Erick said, voice low and venomous now. "Big fucking mistake. I've been waiting for you. Planned for you."
Slade's visible eye narrowed, amusement bleeding into something darker.
"Cute. And what exactly does a street-rat meta think he's got waiting for Deathstroke?"
Erick stopped walking. Planted his feet. Lifted his chin so the visor caught the faint light and reflected it back like two cold stars.
"I knew the second Black Mask hung that bounty on my head you'd come sniffing. And I was already three steps ahead, you arrogant piece of shit."
Slade actually chuckled—low, dangerous.
"Oh? Enlighten me, kid. What's the big surprise you cooked up for the man who's killed more people than you've met?"
Erick leaned forward just a fraction, voice dropping to a vicious whisper that still carried perfectly through the modulator.
"You really don't want to know."
He held Slade's gaze, unblinking, buying every brutal second he needed.
Slade's smile widened, all predator now.
"Try me."
Erick said nothing.
He just stood there—relaxed, ready, waiting.
The trap stayed silent.
For now.
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