With so many humans panicking around the city, coming across ones that were not warranted some interest. Whatever force was at work to make them all consumed by their fears was very strong. It had overwhelmed LeBeau, and it was overwhelming so many others. Thus Death could not help but wonder what allowed some humans to not give in to the wave of fear.
Like this man. He was calm and collected. How had he managed to keep his wits about him? While Death enjoyed watching the panicked humans, they were all clearly mindless sheep, and he would easily claim them in time. But the ones who resisted intrigued him. If they did not give in to their greatest fears, did they also not fear Death?
He approached the man, cocking his head slightly, studying him. “Why do you not run, homme? Do you truly have no fear? I am not a figment of de imagination, brought on by some trick of de mind. I am real. I am Death.”
Either he had no fear or he was completely ignorant, for the man hardly sounded impressed. And yet he seemed to at least have some respect for Death, if he truly had delivered souls into his hands. But if he thought that somehow earned him a reprieve, he was mistaken. “While I appreciate your efforts, dat hardly gives you any sort of protection,” he said, looking mildly amused, “You cannot buy off Death, mon frère. Nor can you kill me.” He had seen the subtle movement of the man’s hand, which only proved his foolishness if he thought to treat Death himself as simply another target to chalk up. “So perhaps you want to rethink your manners, hein?”
“I know you’re real.” What he was was still in question, of course, but Slade had shaken off the effects of the spell quickly enough, knew that whatever was in front of his eyes could be trusted as reality--well, at least insofar as he ever could in this day and age. “Mind tricks don’t work on me real often. Had a bit of a hiccup this morning, but I’m all better now,” he explained drily. His metahuman abilities could be useful every once in a while, at least--although he still didn’t know if that was a side effect of the experiments or just natural resistance.
Didn’t matter, so he never cared to think about it very much.
What did matter was that the man before him was threatening him, and Slade really wasn’t planning on dying today, thank you very much. So he let his hand settle on his gun, but didn’t move to draw it. Yet. “I’ve been a mercenary for a long while, bud, and everybody’s got a price. Even death. I ain’t asking you to leave me alone forever, just want a pass for the time being--new job, kids, you understand,” he deadpanned. “So tell you what--you go your way, I go mine, and we can both go kill the people that need killing.”
