Gods Among Men The East End

Blint was focused on the men laying down fire. When he felt the mercenary duck low. It was only his reflexes that saved his foot from being cut clean off. The knife bit deep but he managed to turn the blow a slight bit. It hurt and blood began flowing into his boot. Blint was lucky that the blade did not sever his Achilles tendon.

With a Roar of pain filled rage. Blint spun on his good foot. The shotgun butt moving to smash into the metal mask. "What the hell !? David roared. His eyes above the bandanna tied around his face filled with anger.
 
Their closeness and the fact that Blint was using a long gun gave Deathstroke something of an advantage, at least with the element of surprise involved.

He reached up to stop the gun before it reached him, letting the button of the rifle slam into his gloved hand. The force caused his knuckles to brush against his mask, the mercenary staring up at Blint with his one eye.

His knife quickly came to up to find a home just above Blint's kneecap. Deathstroke was making sure the other man couldn't escape the gangsters down the hall or the law enforcement on the way.
 
Joker, as played by Meliodas

“Awe, and we were finally just starting to break the ice too! Tata for now, David. It’s a hard clown life. People to kill, amusement parks to blow up. I’m sure you know how it is.” Making a beeline for the door, he stopped dead in his tracks, a nefarious grin spread across his ruby red lips. "Remember one thing, David. Nothing kills more than a good laugh.” Stepping outside into the hall, he left with only a dark chuckle and the expectation that David would do the right thing. If there was one thing Gotham couldn’t resist, it was Joker putting on a show. There was going to be fireworks at Amusement Mile, something the whole city would remember. Not to mention that all of this coincidentally fell on the anniversary of Joker's disappearance.

“It’s going to be a real shindig Johnny! Just make sure that lousy reporter keeps up his end of it. Hah. This town ain’t gonna know what hit em!”
 
Blint's training took over as the knife flashed at his knee. Dropping the shotgun The Kukri flashed out from the sheath on the small of his back. In a tight slash that would knock it out of the way of his leg. Blint lost his long gun. But he countered quickly with a stab aimed at the chest of his attacker.

Blint had studied varied forms of martial arts. And he dropped into the bouncing stance of Muay Thai. Blint gritted his teeth as the pain of the cut on his ankle as it took his weight. But he followed the stab with a shin kick aimed at the side of the mask.
 
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Deathstroke couldn't really afford getting stabbed, his armor was strong and very durable, but ultimately it was designed to stop bullets.

Even the smallest knife was too risky. He raised the shotgun to block the stab, reeling back and stumbling to his feet after Blint kicked him in the face.

"Not half-bad." He told Blint, "In another life we could probably be allies. Too bad you only get one." He said, slipping his own blade away.

He needed both hands to hold Blint's shotgun. Deathstroke raised it at the man, taking aim to make sure he got him in to chest.

He never got the chance to pull the trigger, "FBI!" He heard from downstairs. Their time was up.

"Next time we'll see what happens. Try not to get caught and get that ankle looked at."
 
Blint sighed " I'll be wanting that shotgun back. Now get gone damn it, we can table this for now. " Blint said his eyes hard. Blint knew that with his ankle the way it was he could not make the jump to the rooftop. Undoing his bandana he laid carefully folded it and put it in a pouch on his gear.

Getting to his knees he pressed the button on the detonator. Burning all the money in the vault. Tossing it down on the ground and placing his hands behind his head. As cries of "FBI and freeze" Came down the hallway.

Twelve hours later...
The G-man across from Blint had his "file" most of it covered in neat black lines. David had not said a word the entire time. After they had fixed up his cuts they had stuck him in an interrogation room after an hour of that. They had laid out neat rows of crime photos. They had informed him of the time he would be looking at if this went to trial. And had a neat typed out a confession for him to sign.

After that did not work they grilled David some more. Then things went old school in the form of phone books and rubber hoses after the red lights on the cameras were turned off. Still, Blint did not utter a word. All David had to do was wait for his name to be brought across a desk saying he was in custody. And the black chopper show would start.

Thump...Crack. David sighed and spoke for the first time. "Come on boy's if you want to break someone you really gotta put your back into it," David said as he took another hit from the phone book. Making a fresh cut on his brow that ran down into his eye. He winked at the man with the hose in his hand. then gave him a bloody smile. They had been working on him like this for the better part of two hours. And their technique leaves something to be desired. Then again Blint was trained to hold up under advanced questioning by the boys in the C.I.A. So no wonder this seemed like amateur hour.
 
"It's time you let this man go." A suited man said, letting himself into the interrogation room. "Who are you? His lawyer?" One of the interrogators asked.

"His savior. Maybe. We'll see." The man said, digging a syringe out of the coat he wore over his suit. "It all depends on what he says when he wakes up."

"This man belongs to the Central Intelligence Agency now." The suit told the agents, moving to stick the syringe in David's arm.

It was a barbiturate, enough to knock him out for a long time. Someone had plans for Blint.
 
Blint looked at the ghost "Why agent Johnson so good to see you again. How's the family..." Blint said his words trailing off, as the man shot him up and the world began to spin. Blint slumped forward his head hitting the steel table with a thump.

Blint was floating over a familiar table. He knew this was a dream brought on by the drugs but it still warmed his heart to see his friends again. There was a bottle of cheap gut rot on a rickety old camp table and shot glasses. The company was small four people. David Blint but at this point in time, everyone called him Gravewalker. A large Native American man called Shaman. A twitchy looking ginger called Crash, And lastly a Chinese woman dubbed Shadow. They were celebrating a successful mission. Telling tales of their youth. Cracking jokes about one and other. Doing all the things that friends do at a get togeather.
Their bodies flashed before Blint's eyes and he knew it was his fault.

David groaned as he slowly started to come back his eyes not quite working to tell him where he was. But the room smelled different and he could not longer smell the G-man's old spice.
 
It had been twenty minutes, maybe less, and David had written absolutely nothing. What could he write? What positive thing could anyone write about the Joker?

He looked at the exit, the door still open and destroyed. No one had come to check up on him. Maybe they didn't think he'd try to escape.

Maybe it was stupid to try.

David left the typewriter, quickly rushing out into the hall to make his escape. Stupid as it was, he was going to try to get to safety.

David moved rapidly down the hallways, stopping when he came to an open door. He peeked inside, catching sight of Frost and two other men.

The men weren't gangsters, they weren't part of Joker's fanclub. Military, maybe. Spooks.

The room they stood in was out of place. It was completely furnished, liveable even. It was, until Joker reclaimed his throne, the man's palace.

"Where is he?" One of the men asked Frost, "Bathroom. Cleaning up. Be patient." Frost answered, "We don't have time for this shit." The spook said.

"Make time. You're not dealing with Falcone or Bertinelli. Mr. J has a process." Johnny said.
 
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