I fumbled with my keys while balancing the grocery bags in my other arm. Being old was a bitch. I could hear the mewling cry of the calico that was awaiting her dinner. "Yes, Minerva. Mommy's home. Two minutes, please."
The cat was a creature of habit and as soon as the door was open it would rub against my legs and then run into the kitchen to her bowl. I needed the cat's stability and companionship and was happy to care for it while its owner was out of the area.
Minerva had been caught in the middle of a brawl between her soon-to-be owner and another bounty-hunter. Hit by an errant piece of cement, she wouldn't have survived without immediate care. The owner showed up at my door, dying cat in hand, and said he wanted help. He looked like the world's largest biker in Halloween makeup. Given his obvious penchant for violence and my state at the time, I took the cat in.
Door unlocked, I shifted the weight of the bags and hip-checked the door open. The cat's plaintive cry grew louder as I closed the door with my foot. "Yes, baby, Mommy missed you too."
Minerva wound her way around my legs, pushing her body against me incessantly. "Okay, okay! Who's a hungry minx? Give me a minute, you pest."
The cold, deep voice called out from the living room. "I don't think it's dinner the cat's worried about."
It was unnerving, but not unique. I've had some rather odd guests pop by uninvited with too regular a frequency. After pushing a button under the table, I walked into the room and looked at the large man in his gold and blue costume. "I guess I'm going to have to upgrade my security. My name is Jessandara Olahtundra. I'll need to know the nature of the injury and as much as you can tell me about the victim."
"You... what?" He sounded surprised, but she couldn't tell with his mask on.
"Your friend or loved one. The person suffering. I can't help them without some information."
"Oh, no, you've got this all wrong. I'm here to kill you."
Jess paused. "I see. May I ask why? Or do you even know, Mr. Wilson?"
"No, I've got no idea. I was curious, though. Usually, my fee quashes any curiosity I may have, but there was something odd here. I'm the best. Why hire me to off some little old lady? I don't come cheap. I looked around your apartment. Rent control, right? Your best possession is probably the cat. So, why pay me $1,250,000 to knock you off? And come to think of it, how do you know my name?"
"Care for some tea?"
"No, thanks. Help yourself though." He was insufferably confident.
"Every serious player in the business knows your name, Slade. And Minerva's not mine, I'm just watching her for a friend. She belongs to Lobo, so you might want to respect the cat. You know him, right? Intergalactic bounty-hunter? She may very well be the only creature in the universe that he loves."
"Hmmm. You're an interesting woman, Jessandara. I can't tell if you're lying or not, and that's surprising. So, you're friends with Lobo?"
While not oblivious to the danger Deathstroke posed, I still managed a wry smile. "I'm not sure if you'd call it friends, but he'd be upset if anything happened to me. So would some others."
"Yeah? Why is that?"
"Because I help. Selflessly. It's what I do. I'm a healer."
"Tell me about it."
"Why?"
"Why should you tell me? How about this? If we're talking, I'm less likely to be killing you."
"Fair point. Okay, my only real contemporary is Vandal Savage. I don't know where my abilities came from or how old I am, but I do know that we weren't what you would think of as human when I first became aware. I believe that I predate Neandertahls, but I'm not sure. I have... I guess you would call it energy. I can either keep the energy for myself or spend it on others. It regenerates slowly, so I can keep up low level healing for lots of people perpetually. If I stop expending it, I fill up, as it were, in about nine months."
"Reeaally." He elongated the word as he leaned back and put his feet on my coffee table. "Very interesting. So, when you're 'full', what does that mean? What can you do then? Heal amputees? Bring someone back from the dead?"
"That and more. When I'm in that state I look to be about 20 and I'm as strong as Kal or Diana. I can't fly, but I've never experienced anything that could hurt me, including strikes from Zeus. We've had words in the past. But there's a tradeoff. Right now, I'm as powerful as the 70-year-old woman I appear to be."
"So, who are you helping?"
"Currently? The Dali Lama. He has a leaking tricuspid valve. Most street level heroes who're in danger of CTE. A number of children you wouldn't be interested in. I helped the Bat of Gotham when his back was broken. The granddaughter of one of the only true friends of a certain bald Metropolis billionaire. Scott Free with his arthritis." I leaned down to scratch the cat behind the ear. "Minerva. A number of others."
"You seem remarkably composed."
