Deadpool sat at the edge of the bench in the park, named after some famous personage or another, just beneath the hill that led up to the asylum. It was never crowded, but it was unusually empty today. Maybe after living so long in the closest thing to hell on the planet, the people of Gotham could sense danger about to happen. Maybe Deadpool was scaring them away. Who knew, right?

At the moment, the Merc with a Mouth was reading a book (which he was holding upside down. He'd realized the mistake the second he'd picked it up, but putting it the right way up would be admitting defeat) explaining the setting and detonation of explosives, in order to make the most of the bag sitting next to him. He'd done a lousy job of setting them up, the oh so delicate nitroglycerine was on the bottom, beneath some very heavy examples of the bomb-makers craft. But really, that was the least of his problems.

"It's important to keep your own safety in consideration when you…blah, blah, blah… Make sure you first…blah, blah, blah…"

He snorted and crumbled it up into a ball, then tossed it into the pond where a duck ate it and choked after mistaking it for a breadcrumb, and stood up.

"I'll figure it out as I go. Got me this far. Let's see here" He picked up a device and a soldering iron, then put them back down, realizing he had no power outlet to plug them in. "…maybe if I just… button..."

The raw explosives stared back, mocking his pitiful attempts to understand them. A muscle above his eye twitched, then he turned his back, stood up and walked towards his brother, leaving the dubious benefits of technology to those who were in a position to make sense of them.

Slade was on the top of the hill, watching the mental institution above through a telescope. At night the place looked quite sinister, but by day, it was sad more then anything. His trained eyes continue their surveillance, carefully taking note of all details, and cutting out all distractions. Unfortunately, his main distraction tended to take that as a challenge.

"This is all a waste of time. Why don't we just blow up his house and call it a day."

"Batmans been around a long time. If he can't deal with an explosion, he'd never have lasted this long." Slade replies, without turning around. "If a superhero can be killed by an explosion, you can tell that their heart isn't really in the job."

"Then make it a really big explosion."

"Look. I know you're bored. Why don't you go eat candyfloss or something while I do the reconnaissance and observation."

"Hey! I'm totally useful. Stop trying to get me out of the way."

Slade pulled out his cellphone, and handed it to Wade. "It's for you."

Wade picked it up and put it to his ear. Silence sounded back at him. "Who has disturbed my slumber?" he demanded, but no reply came. Nothing was said. "The quiet game, huh? Well of course you understand, this means war."

Twenty blessed minutes later, Deadpool returned, having finally conceded to the worthy opponent that he could not hope to win. Deathstroke hadn't even stirred. Perhaps he hadn't even blinked. Now that was just scary.

"You know, we're making this too complicated. The guy leaves his house all the time, and we won't catch him sleeping anyway. Who says Batman even sleeps? We could just stake the place out, wait for him to go out, call Deadshot, or if he's too hard to get in contact with, Bullseye, and have him shoot the guy."

"I thought of that." Slade replies, after his shock wore off. His little brother was usually something of a liability in this stage, he only really came into his own if Deathstroke needed a human shield or someone to set off the traps. It was always strange when he suddenly slipped into being useful again. Unfortunately, those times were hard to come by. "It's not as good an idea as it sounds like."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Extra special sure?"

Silence.

"Do I sense a lack of confidence?"

Silence.

"Don't you want to explain to me how brilliant you are? How you've planned everything? Come on, we both know you have a prepared speech somewhere, huh?"

Silence.

"Me, I am never prepared. It just sort of happens."

Silence.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a very zen outlook on life?"

Silence.

"If you want to go to Disneyland, make no sign."

Knife in between vertebrae six and seven.

"Can I count that as a maybe?"

Deathstroke finally stirred. "Okay. I've got a good idea of all the systems in place. Their not designed to keep people out, so much as in, but they're good. They just weren't designed with us in mind. I can see a few ways to get through." He paused. "Getting the people inside out without tipping off our hand, that might be a little harder."

"Airvents?"

"Too small to fit through."

"Some people have no sense of tradition. Then again, what can you expect in a place like this? I mean, it's kind of a dump anyway, right? 'Course, that's just my opinion. Some people might quite like it."

"Nah, the place looks like it was designed by the Hammer Horror brothers as a prop." Slade replied, standing up and stretching like a panther. "Who in their right mind would think this is the place to reintegrate psychopaths into society? I feel a bit insane just looking at it."

"Oh. I though that was just me being me." As dangerous lunatics go, Deadpool was remarkably well adjusted to his condition.

"Right. Dawn."

"You sure? I mean, we normally work at night..."

"Everyone here works at night. The local superhero even dresses up as a giant bat. They expect night attacks. So that's when they'll be on their guard. We attack at dawn."

"Sneaky."