He waits just long enough for the boy to reach his side before he begins to walk.
"Your concern is noted.” He says, curiously mild. He’s amused—why shouldn't he be? The idea of some ordinary, straight-laced law official coming to him demanding his surrender was almost adorable.
Not that there haven’t been a select few over the years, but it’s never made a difference. Most weren’t eager to draw his attention, and for them, plausible deniability no matter how flimsy is a pleasant alternative to the truth. While Jump City is nowhere near as vulnerable as her neighbors, many learn to value their lives over the technicalities of their occupation. All it takes is a few pulled strings, and he’s freer than any little bird would dream of.
Not that he’s going to discuss that little grey area with his apprentice—at least not yet. Timing will be important from now on.
This base is rather large. Immense, looming cogs; metal doors mixed with clean, almost unnaturally well-kept halls that seem to go on forever, maze-like. He leads them easily, never quite seeming to make a wrong turn or hesitate before selecting a direction. Occasionally they pass under what appear to be scanners of some kind, small lights flickering a dutiful green before the doors slide open. Most are automatic—the main doors that lead to other paths, for example—unlike the labeled rooms that won’t open without an access code or keycard. Slade built that into his armor years ago; far safer than having a seperate card someone could steal. He knew that danger better than most.
“I do think you’ve gotten the wrong idea about all of this, Robin.” He tilts his head, but instead of looking back he fiddles with the metal of his cuff. Somehow the motion doesn’t break his stride. “I have much I would like to teach you. None of which benefits from your death.”
“But by all means, keep looking over your shoulder if you truly think that will put you at ease. I won’t begrudge you your caution.”
He stops at last before a somewhat familiar door, though it’s distinguishable only by its number—Robin’s assigned quarters. When it doesn’t immediately slide open, he pauses, glancing at the keycard reader with a displeased hum. A brief moment passes, but the console indicator continues to apathetically glow a dull red.
… Slade steps aside. His eye narrows as he speaks, sounding contemplative.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to unlock it yourself.”
