DC Genesis: Deathstroke & Ravager #2

“Remember the objective, Ravager,” came Deathstroke's voice, hissing over the weakening signal of their comm links. They used the best equipment money could buy, but up in the mountains of Tibet, even the strongest comm signals were at static's mercy.

“I know the objective, Dad,” Ravager whispered in response, poised atop a rocky precipice.

Below her, the an ancient fortress spread out between two mountains, some of it carved into the rock face. According tot heir research, the place was thousands of years old. At one time, it was a hideout for an warrior civilization long extinct. Now, it was used as a major base of operations for the Syndicate. She and her father had beat through a lot of underlings, a lot of trash, these past six months, but they had finally discovered where their target's current believed residence.

“What did I tell you? When we're in uniform-”

“Use codenames, right, I got it,” Ravager countered, before her father could finish his sentence. “I know the objective, Deathstroke.”

Another soft hiss of static came over her comm, before her father's voice finally reappeared. “Just remember to wait for my signal.”

Rolling her eyes slightly, Ravager breathed out an annoyed sigh. “I know how to wait for a signal. You act like I've never done this before.”

“As good as you are, Ravager,” Deathstroke explained, “you're still a rookie in the field. You only have six months of experience under your belt. You're greener than a Martian.”

“Whatever,” Ravager answered, huffing out a sharp breath of air and waiting. “Just hurry up.”

As much as her father's lectures annoyed her, she knew he was right. As far as raw, refined talent went, she was nigh unbeatable. Enhanced to an incredible degree, years of rigorous martial training under her belt, a moderate healing factor, and a sixth sense of sorts that let her see danger before it happened... she had a lot of weapons in her arsenal.

Problem was, she had spent very little time actually out utilizing that skill. It led to sloppy maneuvers, dumb decisions, and missteps that could have easily been avoided. If not for Deathstroke backing her up, she probably would have been dead a long time ago. And so, she obeyed his orders. She sat there, waiting and ready to act at a moment's notice. It didn't take long.

KABOOM!

A massive explosion ripped into the far side of the fortress, blowing apart one of the large stone guard walls. A bright wave of bright orange flames lit up the night, black smoke billowing upward into the inky dark sky.

Well, there's the signal.

She waited another couple of moments, watching as the guards atop the wall closest to her immediately ran off to investigate the disturbance. Within seconds, the entire east side of the fortress had cleared out, allowing Ravager to leap off her perch and land nimbly atop the wall, unnoticed and unopposed.

Instantly, she sprinted across the wall, turning at the first bend in the path and ducking into the interior tunnels of the fortress. The corridors were lit with flickering torchlight, a rather primitive method. But, when your hideout is a centuries old fortress atop a mountain, might as well go the whole nine yards with it.

When she rounded the next corner, a group of four guards carrying spears. Understandably, they looked a little surprised to see her rushing down their tunnel. That brief moment of confusion gave her an opening that she didn't squander, darting up close to them and taking the first two out with crippling blows to the throat and spine. The remaining two gathered their wits in time to attempt a counter attack, thrusting at her with their weapons.

Ducking beneath both attacks, Ravager spun and delivered a shockingly powerful kick to one of the men's abdomen, knocking him through the wooden wall behind him. She turned effortlessly to evade another spear thrust, spinning and trapping the shaft beneath the pits of her elbows and yanking it from from the guard's grasp. Flipping the spear around, she swung the butt end upwards and cracked the man's head backwards. In under fifteen seconds, she had cleared the way.

Too easy. It's like they wanted to get their asses beat.

Grinning triumphantly to herself, she continued down the corridor. A hiss of static erupted in her ear, followed by a very familiar voice.

“You inside?”

“I'm in,” she said, slowing up her stride and cautiously peering around a partition leading into a separate room. It looked like some kind of armory, with rows and rows of weapons, both ancient and modern. Several boxes of explosives ran along one wall, along with dozens of oil drums, no doubt filled with some kind of volatile substances. “I'm passing through the armory now.”

“Good, the temple should be just beyond the following corridor,” Deathstroke explained. “Our intel states that-”

“That he's most likely in the inner most sanctum of the fortress,” Ravager interrupted. “Which is the temple. I know, I studied the information before we left.”

A small pause followed. “That's my girl.”

“Any chance he responded to your distraction, though?” she questioned.

“I've already taken care of everyone who responded to it,” Deathstroke said, his voice carrying an ominous tone. “He wasn't among them, and I haven't seen a second response team, or any other abnormal activity in the outer courtyards. That tells me he hasn't made a move yet.”

Ravager moved swiftly through the armory, towards the exit doors at the opposite end of the chamber. Another pair of guards awaited for her on the other side, but she put them down before they even knew she was there.

“Understood,” she said, slinking through the shadows farther inside the fortress.

“Now remember,” Deathstroke started, “you find him and you subdue him only. I'll find my way to you eventually, but we're doing this together.”

“I know, Da- Deathstroke,” she replied, pushing open another door. She was outside now, near the center of the entire structure that was the fortress. A tall, steep set of stone steps led up a raised, rocky incline. At the very top, a separate building stood perched over everything down below. “Don't worry, we'll get him. We have to get him. After everything he did to you, to me... to Mom.”

Deathstroke breathed outwardly, the heavy sigh drifting in over the comm signal. “I know, Rose... he'll pay for everything. I promise.”

It was her turn to smirk now, as she bounded up the stone walkway. “Codenames, remember?”

“Of course,” came the reply, mixed in with a subtle chuckle. “My mistake, Ravager.”

No guards outside the entrance to the temple... it should have seemed odd to her, but her mind was so focused elsewhere that she didn't even consider that something was off. Instead, she pushed straight through the large wooden door and walked inside. The interior was mostly dark, save for a ring of candles near the center of the main chamber. Cautiously, she approached, concentrating her senses into the darkness and preparing for anything. He didn't know that they were coming for him, that they would be here, but that was no reason to let her guard down.

“Where are you...?” she muttered quietly to herself, taking a few careful steps forward towards the circle of lit candles. Obviously, someone was still around the temple, or the candles wouldn't still be burning.

Another hiss of static erupted in her ear. This time, however, she could barely mae out what her father was saying, understanding only a couple words. “Ro – ssskkkss – of th – ssskkksss – ow! – sssskkk – know we're – ssskkkss – mb!

Ravager paused, holding a hand to her ear. “What? Repeat that, I couldn't understand-” But her words stopped mid-sentence, as a frightfully clear image of the immediate future flickered through her head. Eyes going wide, she immediately turned back around and sprinted towards the door. Moments before she cleared through them, chaos erupted.

The explosive charges rigged all along the interior of the temple exploded. Ravager felt the resulting shockwave lift her off her feet, throwing her forward straight through the wooden doors. A wave of heat engulfed her, just before plummeting forward onto the rocky embankment. Her body bounced once, twice, three times until finally spinning out over open air. And then... she was falling.

“ROSE!” Deathstroke shouted, watching from the other side of the fortress as the temple disappeared in a blinding flash of red and orange flames.

He went to take a step forward, but stopped instantly, staring down the fifty or so rifle barrels now pointed at him. It was supposed to be easy, simple. He and Rose were supposed to get in, kill Jackal, and get out. They had gone over the information, come up with a plan, run through that plan a hundred times to be sure... but they had been expected. Somehow, someway, the Syndicate knew that they were coming, and not just that they were coming, but that they were coming tonight.

A small response team had been sent to investigate the distraction, while the real guards, the much more... well armed ones, waited until Deathstroke foolishly ran out into the open, expecting no resistance. He'd gotten jumpy, overeager with their goal so close, almost in reach... And now about two dozen commando operatives had him surrounded.

Even Deathstroke, with all his skill, couldn't fight his way out of this one. They were smart, kept their distance, and even if he drew his firearms, he'd take down only maybe a dozen at most before they lit him up like the Fourth of f**king July. What he needed was an opportunity, a distraction, an opening. His mind immediately began to calculate the situation, running through all possible scenarios, but a silky smooth, accented voice broke his concentration.

“Slade Wilson,” the woman spoke. “Deathstroke the Terminator. Under different circumstances, I might actually feel honored to be in your presence.”

He turned, locked his eye on the Chinese woman. His gaze slowly narrowed, mind brimming with recognition. “I know you... seen your face. You're an assassin.”

“Much like you,” she replied, holding a single had to her hip. The long black leather coat she wore flickered gently in the cool breeze. “But unlike you, I didn't disappear from the radar for near eight years. I've been... active.”

“If you call aligning yourself with a group of crooks and scumbags remaining active, then sure, congratulations,” Deathstroke retorted. “You want a f**king merit badge?”

The woman chuckled, a smirk curling across her face. “Is that what you think we are? No, no, Slade, we're much, much more than that. As big as you think we are, we're ten times bigger. Now, tell me...” She took a few steps closer, glaring coldly at him. “Why are you attacking the Syndicate?”

“It's not the Syndicate I'm after, you ignorant c**t,” he growled. “I want Jackal. No more, no less. He's our target, not you."

“Oh, Jackal?” Her eyebrows lifted, lips pursing as she contemplated his words. “I see... well, I'm afraid that is still a problem. Jackal has been... indispensable to our cause for quite some time now. I cannot give him to you.”

Deathstroke's gaze narrowed further. “Then it sounds like we have a problem...”

“So it does,” she replied, turning her back to him. “Kill him.”

---

Ravager moaned, blinking her eye rapidly. The sky spun wildly round above her, a few scant snowflakes fluttering down onto her exposed cheeks. She tried to move, twitching first a few fingers and then her arms, but a sharp jolt of pain ripped through her body like lightning, forcing her to remain still a while longer. When finally everything stopped spinning, she sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to roll over.

Shit, shit, shit... something's broken. Something is definitely broken.

A rib, it felt like, maybe multiple, and her left wrist was beyond a little stiff. She could barely make a fist with that hand. A sudden series of coughs racked her body, mouth spraying out several droplets of blood past her lips; the crimson mist painted the white, snowy ground beneath her. Wiping her lips clean, she slowly staggered back up to her feet, teetering there a few moments before able to straighten herself back out. She glanced around briefly, noting that she had fallen into one of the interior courtyards of the fortress.

I'm fine... I'm good. No problem.

“You know, I'm actually glad the explosion didn't kill you,” a mocking, sadistic voice chided at her. “It's more fun this way.”

Ravager's body stiffened up, seemingly paralyzed just at the sound of the voice. She had prepared herself so much for facing this man again, the man who had taken everything from her, including her innocence... but the moment that frightfully familiar tone reached her ears, she was a little girl again, shaking with terror.

“But then... you know all about that, don't you?” he said. “After all... we had a lot of fun together."

Ravager turned towards the voice, barely able to swivel her head. In her chest, her heart thumped a million miles a minute, pounding wildly, out of control. She expected to see that face, too, to go along with the voice. What she instead was a full coverage mask. It was at that instant that she suddenly relaxed, exhaling a breath and almost smiling.

“I see you’ve grown up nicely,” Jackal said, hand moving to the sword at his belt. A handgun strapped to the other side of his hip, but perhaps he felt the need to be more physical, more personal.

“Nice mask,” Ravager riposted, ignoring the previous comments. “Then again, after what my father did to your face, I can't blame you for wanting to cover it.”

A small pause followed. Jackal tilted his head slightly to the side, then drew his blade. “Hilarious. The thing about your father, though, we already have him. He's probably dead, now that I think of it.”

Ravager's eye narrowed, heart skipping a beat. “I don't believe you.”

As if on cue, gunfire rang out, splitting the quiet of the night.

“Alright, now he's dead,” Jackal said, adding a brief chuckle to cement his point.

But the gunfire continued, a lot longer than it should have. A couple of small explosions followed, and then came the screaming. It was Ravager's turn to smirk. “Or maybe he's a lot tougher than you thought.”

“Hmph,” Jackal stated, drawing the blade and flipping it around in his hand. “Doesn't matter. I still have plenty of time to fillet you before he gets here.”

“I'm not the helpless little girl you molested anymore, a**hole,” Ravager said, reaching up over her shoulder to draw one of her own swords. She would have drawn both, had she been able to use both hands, still unable to even form a fist with her left. “I'm stronger.”

“We'll see,” Jackal stated, sprinting across the ground.

His boots crunched across the snow, sword whistling through the air as he swiped it at her midsection. Ravager turned her body to the side, ducked below the swoosh of the blade, and then spun through with a counter blow of her own. Jackal recoiled, staggering and trailing a line of blood behind him. She had struck with expert precision, cutting between the protective plates of his armor. The gap between those plates were mere fractions of an inch wide, but to her, they might as well have been a giant target.

“I'm better,” she added, flipping over his next swing and belting him in the face with a flying knee. He stumbled backwards, caught his balance too late, and then slid back onto his ass in the snow. “Better than you! Better than people like you! And better than everything you stand for!”

She leaped at him, springing through the air and pulling her sword back for a crippling strike. While she had to wait to kill him until her dad was there to take part in the moment himself, that didn't mean she couldn't give him pain, couldn't make him beg.

But she never got the chance.

Maybe it was the lingering damage from the explosion, or maybe just her overzealousness clouding her mind, but in either case, she didn't see Jackal's leg lifting to intercept her attack mid-jump. She landed squarely on his raised boot, the impact further damaging her broken ribs. The resulting pain locked her body up with a sharp, numbing sensation, as if paralyzed. When she landed on her back, she could barely breathe, let alone stand back up to defend herself.

“That was dumb,” Jackal said, rising back to his feet. He pressed a hand to his bleeding wound, limping slightly off balance. “Word of advice, never leave yourself that astoundingly open. Nowhere to go when you're in midair like that.” He paused a second, then shook his head, laughing. “Then again, you're not going to be able to use that advice, are you?”

He took a few, casual steps forward, a small trail of scarlet dripping behind him in the cold powder. Ravager raised her head, watching him carefully as she did.

Little more... just a little more you slimy p**ck.

One more step, and Ravager clicked the small device in her hand. A bright red blinking light lit up beneath the very top layer of the snow, linking the detonator with the small explosive marble she'd dropped behind her when he catapulted her through the air.

Jackal stopped, staring down at his feet. “Oh fu-”

Boom!

The explosion wasn't impressive by normal standards, but as far as power relative to a single person standing almost directly on top of it... it did its job. Jackal flew backwards like a rocket, hitting the ground hard and sliding violently through the slush. When he finally came to a stop, he lay there motionless for several moments, until finally rolling back over and stumbling to reorient himself. A sharp blow tot he chest forced him back to the ground.

“Thought I was helpless, huh?” Ravager said, standing with her boot atop the man's chest, blade held firmly against his throat. At that moment, the snow began to fall harder, swirling around the pair like a frigid hurricane. “Thought I'd just lie down for you again? Did you!?”

“Heh... not bad, kid,” Jackal wheezed, sucking in a deep breath. “Just one problem with your little plan that you didn't take into consideration.”

Ravager's eyes narrowed hard. “And what might that be?”

A different voice answered her. “Me!”

The snow swirling around them suddenly picked up stronger, a gust of chilled wind blasting Ravager off the man and lifting her into the air. She fell a moment later, landing with a crash against the ground and flinching at the sharp, jolting pain in her midsection. She tried to get up, but found her arms cemented to the ground beneath a thick layer of ice.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, thrashing around in attempts to free herself. She kicked her legs upwards, only to have them, too, plastered to the ground, encased in solid blocks of ice.

“I wouldn't bother struggling,” came the icy, half-deranged voice. “Won't do you a bit of good.”

Ravager raised her head, catching sight of a woman approaching, a very odd looking woman. Arctic blue hair and pale, greyish blue skin... not the features you typically found on an ordinary person.

“Wh-who... are y-y-you?” she stuttered.

“Oh me?” the woman said, flashing a devilishly sinister grin. With a snap of her fingers, the ice spread over the rest of Ravager's body, up to her neck. “I'm Frost. Killer Frost, to be exact.”

Cold... so cold... f-f-f**king freezing.

“Just relax,” the frigid woman said, her voice soothing, calming. “Go to sleep.”

The rapid loss of temperature clawed at Ravager's consciousness. She tried to speak up, tried to struggle, tried to remain awake... but her body could only drift away, relaxing into a motionless, dreamless state. Dark blotches started to form in front of her vision, until finally consciousness left her behind.

Deathstroke sucked in a deep breath of air, lowering his large arms. In one hand, he held an automatic pistol. In the other, a large claymore blade, easily wielded with his enhanced strength. Surrounding him lay dozens of bloodied, motionless bodies, streaks of bright crimson sprayed across the white ground. Apparently, he had underestimated his own ability. Apparently, he could fight his way out of that.

But things were far from over. Tucking his weapons away, he sprinted across the ground, leaping over several low walls and scaling another taller one. He landed on the other side in a low crouch, glancing both ways for any signs of danger. When he saw none, he continued, darting across the courtyard. He had to find a way up to the temple, had to find his daughter. He had to... had to... had... to...

He stopped. Halfway across the courtyard, he just stopped. Everything went numb. He knew this feeling well. He'd become familiarized with it. It was the feeling of having your entire world ripped away in the most violent, horrible way possible. He shouldn't have brought her here. He shouldn't have trained her. He should have just... he should have kept her safe. This... this wasn't keeping her safe.

With a pained, weak breath, Deathstroke took several more steps forward, then collapsed to his knees. He reached up and removed the faceplate to his mask, discarding it to the snow, and held a gloved hand to Rose's cold, pale face. He made sure to turn his head away from the sword, the blade piercing through his daughter's chest and pinning her to the ground. He didn't want to look at it, couldn't. Instead, he reached out a weak hand and plucked the long piece of steel from her body, throwing it somewhere behind him.

Deathstroke remained silent, his gaze locked on her face, on her lifeless, glossy eyes. For the longest time, he just stared at her. Didn't move, didn't speak. Just stared. Then, he bowed his head, touched his forehead to hers, and held her in his arms, held her close to him and fought back that numb, sickening sensation of sorrow clawing at his throat.

---

Atop a nearby wall, the female assassin leaned over the edge, holding herself up with her elbows. She gazed out at the courtyard, watching the pitiful man hovering over the cold bundle of snow. So easy to fool, the mind of a man was. At one time, she had looked up to and admired Deathstroke, the greatest mercenary/assassin in the business. But now... now she felt sorry for him. For what he had become. A mere shadow of his former self that she couldn't be any happier to destroy.

“We should just kill him,” a figure spoke from the shadows behind her. “If he was a thorn in our side before, I don't want to imagine what he'll be like now that we've gone and given him nothing to lose.”

“You overestimate him, Psimon,” she spoke, glancing to her left. The man with the overly large and exposed brain slithered out of the shadows, joining her at the edge of the wall. “Look at him. He is but a husk of the man he used to be, no longer fit of the title 'assassin'.”

Psimon breathed outwardly, holding a hand to his chin. “That may be, but even a dying animal can cause problems, if you're careless.”

“I am aware,” the woman said, turning from the scene. “And I would just kill him, if it were not much more satisfying to break him.”

---

Fifteen minutes ago...

Jackal grunted, slowly hobbling back up to his feet. “Just shatter her poor frozen body already and be done with it.”

“And finish your own job for you?” Killer Frost said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I don't think so. Besides, the new orders from the boss. We're to take her alive.”

“Huh... alive,” Jackal muttered, glancing back at the girl. “Suppose that works, too...”

Killer Frost's glare grew colder, Raising a hand, she blasted a burst of arctic air out of her palm, aimed straight at his crotch. Jackal yelped out loud, recoiling and hopping up in down in discomfort. “Don't get any ideas. She's mine, boss' word.”

“Ha!” Jackal mocked. “Anything I'd do to her, you'll do ten times worse. I've seen the way you handle your 'pets'.”

“No, no...” Killer Frost said, grinning wickedly. She moved her gaze back over to the near frozen girl. “She's pretty... I think I'll keep her.”

Jackal scoffed, limping towards the end of the courtyard. “Whatever. Ten to one she ends up like that last two.”

Killer Frost glared a hole through the man's back, as he disappeared through a door. Then, she raised a hand, causing the block of ice encasing Ravager to hover up into the air. A wave of her other hand, and a small collection of snow formed into the shape of a small, human body lying on the ground. Lifting her gaze, she winked at lame brain up atop the wall.

“You're on, Psimon,” she uttered quietly. In seconds, she disappeared through the same door as Jackal, the ice encased Rose following behind her.

---

“Up and at 'em,” Killer Frost spoke, smacking her hand hard across the girl's face. She should be able to wake up just fine, now that the temperature had been returned to normal. Heck, the space heater kept the room nice and toasty warm anyway.

Rose let out a tiny groan, blinking a few times before regaining her full senses. The moment she realized where she was and who stood in front of her, she made a move to attack and escape... only to find out that thick steel cables bound her to a chair.

“The hell do you want?” Rose asked, biting sharply with her tone. “Why am I still alive?”

“Oh, disappointed at that?” Killer Frost asked, leaning in close across the table between them. “I could always rectify it...” When Rose didn't answer, a grin spread across the icy woman's face. “That's what I thought.”

Turning from the table, Killer Frost brought her attention to the small television set behind her, placed atop a VHS player. She clicked the television on, then began fiddling the the player.

“What are you doing?” Rose asked, still attempting to wiggle her way out of her bonds.

“Oh nothing much,” Killer Frost replied. “Just loading up some security footage taken from earlier. Yeah, did you know this old relic of a fortress is equipped with security cameras? I was shocked, too.”

Rose paused, confusion lingering over her face. “Why would you want to show me security footage?”

“To show you something on it, obviously,” the woman said, uttering an annoyed sigh. “Your daddy sold you out, you know. Why do you think we knew you were coming?”

Stiffening, Rose's eyes hardened. She was silent briefly, until finally shaking her head. “No, you're lying. We were in this together from the start. Nice try, but I'm not buying your crap.”

“Seeee?” Killer Frost stated, grinning wickedly. “That's what this is for.”

Clicking the play button, the frosty woman backed off and folded her arms across her chest. Rose blinked curiously at the television. The image that came on screen showed Deathstroke surrounded by those commandos in the courtyard. They had him at gunpoint, nothing out of the ordinary there... but then they all lowered their weapons, and another figure walked onto screen. It was a woman, looked maybe Chinese in descent. She barely paid attention to their conversation, until she caught a few words that grabbed her.

“The girl,” the woman said, holding her hands to her hips. “You give us the girl, and I let you walk out of here alive.”

“What kind of person do you take me for?” Deathstroke asked, glowering at her.

“The kind with particular interests.” The woman snapped her fingers, and soon another person ran onto screen, this one carrying a briefcase. Opening the briefcase, the woman continued, “I have here an amount totaling one million American dollars. This, plus your life, for the girl.”

Rose grit her teeth, scowling. “What does that bitch think she's trying to-”

“A million and a half,” Deathstroke said, cutting her words off. “A million and a half, and you got a deal.”

Unable to formulate words, Rose froze, vision going slightly blurry as she stared at the screen. Something inside her burst like wildfire, but she wasn't sure exactly what it was... some vile combination of hate, pain, betrayal, and anger.

“Deal,” the woman stated, handing over the briefcase. “We'll wire the remaining amount to your account.”

Deathstroke took the briefcase, closed it, and then walked away... leaving the fortress, leaving the mountains... leaving Rose. Leaving her behind, all for a briefcase full of money. When the television flickered off, Killer Frost walked back into view, tilting her head tot he side and grinning.

“So,” she said, “how was that?”

“It... it's not... true,” Rose uttered, clenching her jaw tightly. She closed her eyes, squinting them shut and trying to fight back the tears she knew were already coming. Her heart felt heavy, broken, a numb sensation clawing at the pit of her throat. And then... then, she lost it. “IT'S NOT TRUE! IT CAN'T BE TRUE! HE WOULDN'T DO THAT! HE WOULDN”T LEAVE ME!”

Killer Frost snickered softly to herself, eyes lifting up to look into the corner of the room, behind where Rose sat. She stared at the quiet Psimon, her grin growing wider. “I think I'll leave you here, let you... deal with that. But don't worry, little Rosie... I'll be back.”

Slade Wilson Journal Entry #12

November 21, 2009

Anything I write now just seems redundant. I’ve already written about my mistakes, my failures, and how it defines my life. It should come as no surprise that it happened again... only this time, I really have lost everything. Jackal is still at large, the Syndicate murdered the last person I had close to me in this world, and my drive to continue is nearly gone...

My gun is on the counter, sitting in front of me. Mocking me. If I had the guts, I'd stick it in my mouth and be done with it. But I won't... because if I did, they would win. They butchered Rose, and let me live... to break me, I imagine. To make me suffer more loss. In a way, it's worse than death. But the thing is, with leaving me alive... I'm still around to cause problems. And whatever that insufferable bitch might think, I'm still perfectly capable of causing problems.

It used to be, I just wanted the Jackal. Just wanted my quick revenge.

Not this time. Not anymore.

This time, I'm going after them all. The Syndicate. Everyone involved with them, everyone on their payroll.

I'm going to kill them.

Every

last

one.