In the underbelly of New York City, Ethan Carter, a super soldier known as Deathstroke, walks the fine line between justice and vengeance after receiving an experimental serum from Norman Osborn that enhances his strength, speed, and healing abiliti...
The sun shined brightly over New York City as the streets buzzed with life. Just an hour ago, Spider-Man had succeeded in capturing Wilson Fisk, the infamous Kingpin, who was now on route to the Raft, a high-security prison designed for superhuman criminals. Meanwhile, on a rooftop overlooking the city, four of Fisk's loyal men gathered beneath a massive billboard, armed with rifles and a rocket launcher. Their plan was simple: break Kingpin out before he reached the prison.
One of the men glanced nervously at the rocket launcher. “Is that thing loaded?” he asked.
“Yeah, I just checked,” another answered confidently.
“Good," the leader said, steadying his grip on his rifle. "Remember, we've only got one chance at this. We ain't letting the spider stop us.”
Before any of them could respond, a deep voice cut through the air. “He won’t be the one stopping you.”
They all looked up, startled, and there he was, standing on top of the billboard. Clad in sleek orange and black armor, with a matching helmet that had a single eyehole, the infamous assassin Ethan Carter, otherwise known as Deathstroke had arrived.
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"It's freakin' Deathstroke! Fire!" one of the men shouted, panic setting in.
They opened fire, spraying bullets at Ethan as he stood atop the billboard. The rounds pinged harmlessly off his armor, leaving him completely unfazed. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just watched as they wasted their ammo in a desperate attempt to stop him.
The gunfire ceased as their magazines ran dry, the rooftop fallig into an uneasy silence. The men looked at each other, fear and confusion written on their faces.
Ethan slowly reached for his sword, drawing it with an icy precision. His voice cut through the tension like the blade in his hand. "My turn."
Ethan dropped down from the billboard with lethal grace, landing in front of the first goon. In one fluid motion, his sword flashed, severing the man's hand before swiftly cutting across his neck. Blood sprayed as the goon collapsed, lifeless.
The second goon, desperate, swung his rifle at Ethan. But Ethan ducked with ease, his reflexes far too sharp. Before the goon could react, Ethan yanked the magazine out of the rifle and, in a brutal display of precision, jammed it into the man’s forehead. The goon’s body crumpled as Ethan stood over them
Goon 3 lunged at Ethan with a knife, but Ethan effortlessly caught his arm mid-swing. With a brutal twist, he snapped the arm in half, the sound of bone breaking echoing in the air. Without hesitation, he drove the jagged bone into the man's jugular, watching him collapse in a pool of blood.
The last goon stood paralyzed, realizing too late that he was backed into a corner. His hands shook as Ethan approached, his presence like a looming executioner. Desperate, the man pleaded, "Ay! You're a mercenary, right? Fisk will pay you handsomely if you let me go!"
