He was training when Slade gave him the news.
Dick was sparring against one of Slade's robots, like he always did whenever Deathstroke was busy. Mercy was... supervising, that is to say, ensuring that Dick's training was coming along for Luthor. Once Dick had wondered what would happen if Mercy didn't find any progress, but he had never gotten the courage to ask.
Slade entered the room just as Dick was delivering a spinning kick to the robot's face, knocking it down to the ground. He had a bag slung over his shoulder. Dick sighed; it looked like Deathstroke had been called out on a contract. Not that he loved training, but he didn't really have anything else to do while Slade was gone.
Slade called him over and he obeyed, and he noticed that the bag was significantly smaller than the normal one he carried, and it was a slightly different shade of green. He looked at his trainer curiously.
"Do you have a contract today, Slade?" he questioned, not really expecting an answer, and was surprised when Deathstroke stopped and turned to face him.
"No," he mused quietly, and Dick felt his curiosity grow even more, "I don't."
"Then why-"Dick began, but Slade cut him off by throwing him the bag, which was significantly heavier than it looked.
"But you do."
Dick felt his blood run cold at Slade's words.
"You mean... I'm getting a contract?"
Deathstroke glared at him as an answer, tossing him a file.
"Their names are Jerold Hayden and Scott Elroy. They're American mob bosses known in Metropolis for their drug dealings and quick work when it comes to disappearing."
"And you want me too..." Dick made a sliding motion over his own throat, feeling slightly sick when Slade nodded at him coldly. "Why?"
"One of their competitors wants them out of the way." The mercenary's voice was emotionless and dangerous.
"I-I don't think that's a good reason to-"
"These are evil men, apprentice," Deathstroke snarled. "They deserve to die. And we've been hired to put them in their place, so you will."
Dick shuddered. Shooting a human-like target was one thing... but shooting a real person?
All life is sacred, little robin. Treat everyone with kindness and respect, and you'll find that kindness returned to you.
All life is sacred...
His mother's voice...
His voice trembled when he spoke.
"Slade... I don't think... I don't want to..."
A single grey eye narrowed dangerously, and Dick flinched involuntarily.
"You will, apprentice. You know what will happen if you don't." Deathstroke threatened, and Dick shuddered as a sniper rifle was pressed into his unresponsive hands.
Suddenly, Slade cocked his head as if listening to something, then brought a hand to his ear.
"Yes?" he growled out in a deadly tone, and Dick realized he was speaking to someone over a communicator. There was a slight pause, and then Deathstroke continued: "Excellent. The boy and I will be there shortly."
"Slade?" Dick asked, slightly confused, and the mercenary only glowered at him.
"Come, Renegade."
Dick flinched at the alter-ego name Deathstroke had chosen for him, then followed obediently towards the roof of Lexcorp.
_Break Line_
The helicopter dropped him off on a building on the east side of Metropolis.
"You know what to do, apprentice?" Slade's voice came from the communicator in his ear, and Dick immediately let out a nervous breath.
"Yes, Slade," he responded shakily, shouldering the sniper rifle in his arms and biting his bottom lip as he approached the hit zone. "But... what about Superman?"
Deathstroke chuckled, a sound that chilled him to the bones.
"You don't have to worry about the Boy Scout," Slade chuckled. "He's... otherwise occupied."
In the back of his head Dick wondered what Slade had done, and then he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
His Renegade outfit was a dark red color that seemed to blend with shadows. A Kevlar vest rested underneath it, along with a thin layer of what Slade called "special armor" that he refused to explain any further. Black pants and a black cape completed the costume, along with a black utility belt. A tiny Lexcorp symbol was on his left shoulder.
His sniper rifle was slung across his back, and his utility belt was stuffed full of explosives and a boomerang-like device that he wasn't quite sure what to call. A silver katana hung at his hip, and a hologlove was on his wrist (because he had grown quite good at hacking in the year Deathstroke had been teaching him).
He approached the edge of the building and rested the rifle on the railing, glancing through the scope to ensure it was working before looking over at the men he had been sent to kill.
In a window in the building just across the small courtyard that was between them, he could see the two mob bosses that he recognized from their files. Scott Elroy had brown hair and a squashed nose, he looked slightly overweight. He was waddling in circles in the room, moving his hand agitatedly as he spoke to his partner.
Jerold Hayden looked more dangerous- at least more like a mob boss. A machine gun was resting against his knee, and he was leaning back against the wall, casually smoking on a cigarette. He had floppy black hair and didn't look at all fazed by the fuss the other was making.
"Renegade..." Slade hissed into his ear, and Dick hesitantly brought the scope to his eye and positioned it on Scott's chest. He stood there for a moment, frozen, scope tracking on the pacing man, until Deathstroke brought him back to reality.
"Do it!" Slade growled, "Take the shot, now! Renegade!"
Dick's finger twitched on the trigger- what was he doing? He was seconds away from killing a human being! He couldn't do this... he couldn't...
"NOW!" Slade roared in his ear, and Dick jumped in surprise, his hand tugging on the trigger, obeying his trainer without thought just as he had been taught to-
He realized what he'd done the second the spark appeared- everything slowed down, and he knew the bullet wasn't going to miss because he had been trained to not miss-
I'm sorry, mom.
The fatter man dropped lifelessly to the ground without a single cry, the bullet tearing through his chest. Jerold, the remaining boss, scrambled towards the door without looking back. His cigarette was dropped to the ground, forgotten in his haste, and the wooden floorboards caught on fire just as Dick moved to pursue the second man.
He knew exactly where Jerold was headed. It was all in Slade's file, he had to admit that the mercenary was good at what he did. He ignored Deathstroke's yelling in his ear and pulled out his grappling hook, abandoning the sniper rifle and swinging down towards the street.
He made his way around the building quickly, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen, and managed to catch the mob boss just as he was running out the back door, sending him to the ground with a well-placed kick.
Jerold scrabbled backwards, almost whimpering in fear as he reached clumsily for his machine gun. Dick kicked it away as he drew the katana from its sheath at his side and raised it above his head-
-then lowered it slowly, shaking his head and averting his gaze from Jerold. He heard Slade snarl.
"Why do you hesitate?" his trainer hissed softly in his ear. "Why? Do you know how many men this man has killed to get to his top dog position? How many kids have been exposed to drugs and crime because of his deals? How many families he's ripped apart, just like yours was-"
Dick flinched, stepping back from the terrified man.
"But..."
"You'd be doing the world a favor," Slade whispered dangerously, "ridding this planet of a man who wouldn't think twice about putting a gun to your head and pulling the trigger. One who wouldn't hesitate to destroy the lives of everyone in this city. People like him."
Dick sucked in a shaky breath, returning his gaze to the mob boss. Jerold was slowly getting over his shock, the fear in his eyes replaced by confusion and anger as Dick spoke into his communicator. Behind them, the apartment building was going up in flames, casting a glow over the entire scene. Sparks flew past to be extinguished when they hit the concrete.
He closed his eyes tightly in a desperate attempt to escape reality for a split second, wishing that he could be anywhere, anywhere, but here... suddenly there was the familiar noise of a machine gun cocking, and his eyes snapped open.
Jerold was on his feet, AK-47 in hand. A wicked sneer slid onto his face as he leveled the gun directly at the young assassin's face.
"I don't know who you are, or why you were sent to kill me, kid, but it ends now. Hope you enjoy the afterlife."
Slade was screaming at him to move through the communicator and he tried to, but his body wasn't responding right. Jerold's finger tightened on the trigger and Dick barely managed to throw himself to the side just as the shots rang out.
For a moment he thought he had escaped harm, but then he felt the sharp pain in his side.
Numbly, he moved his gloved hand to his side, eyes widening when he glanced down to see blood glistening on his fingertips. A bullet had clipped him, punching through his armor at such a close range. He looked back up a Jerold, who was scowling now, preparing to fire off another round of shots.
"KILL HIM!" Deathstroke roared, and Dick acted instinctively, rolling under the stream of bullets and coming up right in front of the mob boss, sword in hand-
Then it was over, and Jerold slumped to the ground just as his partner had, dead at Dick's hand. He stood there panting for a moment, and then he realized what he'd done.
The sword dropped from his hand with a clatter, blood staining the silver metal. The flames were growing larger behind him, but he didn't care at this point.
I've killed not one, but two men now.
I'm a murderer.
A single tear trickled out of his eye from beneath the domino mask.
A firm hand rested on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Slade standing behind him. He flinched when Deathstroke moved his hand to his wound.
"Come, Renegade," Slade murmured in his ear. "We're done here." Dick squeezed his eyes shut and shrugged his mentor's hand off of his shoulder, but the man was persistent.
"Renegade... Richard... Dick. You're hurt. Let me help."
Dick submitted to Slade's commands and let the man lead him away towards the helicopter, which had landed behind without him noticing. His entire world felt numb with shock- except his side, and he winced every other step as he walked.
They climbed into the helicopter and lifted into the air.
_Break Line_
Luthor slowly turned to regard Slade, narrowing his eyes.
"He killed them both?" he questioned, cocking an eyebrow at the mercenary.
"He did," Slade confirmed, leaning against the wall casually. "Although it took being in mortal danger to get him to kill the second one. And he was injured."
Lex waved a hand almost dismissively at his words.
"No matter. Now that the child has effectively killed, we can use it against him. Do you think he would willingly kill again?"
Deathstroke shrugged.
"Maybe if you blackmailed him into doing it. Or if you spoke of the one who killed his family. I almost got to him. Any news on that, by the way?"
Luthor withheld a puzzled look from his face at Slade's casual tone, but shook it off.
"Tony Zucco," he said reluctantly, glancing at the other man. "Italian mobster, mafia boss. Apparently sabotaged the Grayson's trapeze. Why so interested, Deathstroke?"
Slade shrugged again, and Lex regarded him suspiciously.
"There must be a reason for your sudden interest, Slade."
"Fine," Slade sighed, "You might consider letting the boy go after Zucco to cure him of his... hesitance to kill. The temptation to avenge his family might be enough to get him to kill willingly."
Luthor considered the idea for a second.
"But not yet!" Slade suddenly added. "As I've told the boy before, you hired me to train him, not traumatize him. He's messed up enough from today's events. And he's injured."
Lex let a slight smirk appear on his face.
"Your idea is a good one, Deathstroke. Fine, when he's ready I'll let him avenge his parents."
Slade nodded and turned, making for the door, but stopped suddenly and threw one last thing over his shoulder.
"I won't make him kill again for a while, Luthor, and neither should you. Today was a single step in his training to become your assassin, and a painful one at that. He needs time."
And with that, he left, leaving Lex to ponder the day's events.