Nightwing walked into the room, looked around at the gray walls, the metal table and chair, and sat down, throwing the open file in front of Deathstroke with a thunk. Deathstroke was bound to the chair by his ankles, and Nightwing knew that his arms were supposed to be cuffed together, wasn't so surprised that they weren't.

"We managed to find one branch," Nightwing said. He didn't say hello. Didn't indicate anything to Deathstroke because he was aware of the camera in the corner of the room, "Yours."

Deathstroke hummed but didn't say anything, had his head turned sideways and stared at the one-way glass. He didn't even glance at the pictures scattered on the table. Nightwing mentally sighed, didn't want to be the one to interview him. He walked around the table, crouched over until he was level with Deathstroke's eyes.

"Deathstroke," Nightwing said. "We have a couple hundred followers—your followers—and none of them will talk. You know what's going to happen to them?"

Deathstroke didn't say anything.

Nightwing sighed. "They're going to die." He straightened his back and felt Deathstroke's eyes follow him as he walked back to the other side of the table, sat down in the empty seat. "You don't have to. Just tell me where they are. Where are your other branches?"

He glanced at the camera, knew that he couldn't hint that he wants to know R.I.O.T for reasons that weren't for the Lords, wished for the first time that Deathstroke could read him like an open book. He could still hear Tim's frantic, "Just act like the bad cop. We'll figure something out," in his head.

Deathstroke raised an eyebrow and chuckled. He said, "How does it feel, kid?"

Nightwing didn't let the confusion show on his face and pushed the file closer to Deathstroke. "Where."

"Does the power over someone's life give you a thrill?" Deathstroke continued, shifted slightly to straighten his back more. "Do you like to pull the trigger, or would you rather beat them with those Eskrimas of yours?"

Nightwing growled and muttered, "Shut up." He knew that wasn't a good idea to let Slade know he was bothered, but he couldn't stop the glare.

Deathstroke laughed. "Have you even killed anyone yet?"

Nightwing didn't answer, just glared at the open folder. They were pictures of the members, people Nightwing would consider allies. It was them going about their daily business, not even aware of the person around the corner snapping pictures of their life. He tightened his hand into a fist, tried to hide the anger, managed to hiss, "What are you even doing, Slade?"

Slade slowly raised his hands to the file, shifted through the pictures and stopped at some, stared at them with a bitter sweet smile, like he really cared about them. Like he didn't want them to die.

"Being everything you ever wanted me to be," Deathstroke said, tossed a picture at Nightwing. Nightwing picked it up, stared at the image of a daughter hugging her father, saw the smiling mother behind them with the lights from inside streaming into the darkness of the night. "A hero."

Nightwing wondered why they had pictures like that in the folder.

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QUE THE FORESHADOWING