They say that revenge is a dish best served cold. He's never believed it. While his quests for vengeance may have taken time to reach fruition, the emotions he felt were always hot. Sometimes bitter, but always burning inside him.
Not this time.
As he pushes Luthor to his knees, puts the gun to the back of his head, he feels nothing but ice in his veins and a heart so cold it barely beats. A small part of him admires the man for not pleading, for remaining as cool as he feels, but he wishes he'd beg. Wishes he'd fight. Wishes he'd do something to bring the heat.
But, wishing won't bring the kid back--nothing will--and his vengeance brings no pleasure or satisfaction.
As he pulls the trigger and his enemy's brains and blood spatter across the concrete, Slade Wilson feels nothing but a cold chill, and knows that without Dick's smile in the world, he'll never feel warm again.
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