The press of a button can do so much. Ruin a life, take it, give it back... And in the most simple way, imitate it.

So when I press the space bar and the sounds of rowdy, annoying little children start up, ringing through expensive hidden speakers in the ground floor apartment, a busy home comes to life.

Violet Erickson is the landlord of these apartments. She's young to have such a job, but she only has it because her parents left the building to her before moving to the country to open a B&B. At least, that's the story behind this particular platinum blonde, with sharp grey eyes and a snippy Gotham tongue.

I have copied everything in the file, so Slade can quite happily have it back now that I know it's nothing that can put him in my way. It's someone else's hit list. All it has is everything everyone already knows.

They know Aphrodite, the Goddess whom some Amazons descend from, granted me powers and the honour of bearing her name. They know I rarely use her powers unless my target is a meta-human. They know I am part of the Assassin's guild The Devil's Paramour. They know I've killed over 312 people.

Nothing new in there.

Soon enough the buzzer sounds through the room, triggered by the motion of Slade opening the front door. I neaten out my hair and the bows tying up my pigtails, make sure the tiny denim shorts and black loose top are messed up to imply how tired I am from taking care of the kids, then I yank open the door leading to the lobby.

"Denise! Stop hitting him!" I shout over my shoulder, as if naughty children inhabit the place and I'm nothing but an exhausted party girl who hates her tenants.

Slade has his hands in his pockets and regards me with suspicion hidden in a calm smile from the other side of the lobby desk. Every single bone in my body wants to seductively drape itself against the doorframe.

However, Violet Erickson is the kind of girl to look for a fuckboi her age, not a gorgeous murder daddy.

"Are you Mr Wilson?" I ask, words dripping with the impatience of an entitled trust fund baby as I flop around with attitude. 

"I'm looking for Miss Tulip," he responds in a mild tone, stopping between the desk and the door. The lobby is small, with a plant in the corner, marble flooring and timber panels. The décor reminds me of a beauty salon.

"Yeah, Daisy went out earlier with her dealer, but she left this for you," I take the file out from a shelf built into the desk and throw it down carelessly. "If you're hopin' to see her, you're gunna be disappointed. Whenever she goes out with that chick she ends up on a bender."

On cue, the audio playing from the apartment gives a loud scream, indicating an injured child. I sigh and look over my shoulder.

"You have a good day now," I say without glancing back at him. I hurry into the apartment again shouting about the children, slamming the door shut behind me. The moment I'm in I head over to the only home style computer in the only actual apartment in the building. 

Slade looks a little bit dumbfounded, but he opens the file and checks that everything is there. Satisfied, he leaves, but not before giving everything around him a once over like there's a trap set up.

He's unlikely to come back here. What he probably will do is stake out Cece's place and wait until she returns so he can interrogate her and find out just who she stole the file for. 

The answer to that question, obviously, is Aphrodite.

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◊

Slade sits in the apartment with his eyes set on the file. Everything is in pristine condition. Cece took them from him, had them for only a few hours, only to give them to a customer's landlord to give to him.

Okay, so first thing's first; she knew he'd find the address to the apartment where he could pick up the file. 

Whether or not that was the original plan, he does not know. If it wasn't and he found the address on that piece of rubbish by accident, that means she saw him pick it up. If it was the plan, she would have had to make sure, so again, she would have seen him.

A camera.

The cameras in Cece's house are the key.

Rose is sulking, apparently not speaking to him because of the intense training she suffered after bringing a con-artist close enough to steal from him. Of course when it comes down to it, Slade is the one who had sex with her and therefore allowed her extensive access, but who is he going to blame, himself?

He could have sworn the thief's eyes flashed pink twice during their intercourse. On top of that she managed to sneak out of bed and steal from him. Perhaps there is more to Cece Jermaine than being just a dealer.

Some things are vivid in his mind. The curve her hips, the extra soft skin in the dip of her waist, the way she gave a breathy laugh when his whiskers scratched across her skin. 

Everything she did- with her hands, her mouth, her body, seemed to take him further and further into a place where he felt like he was drowning. Not in a bad way, but in a floaty way. A warm, surrounding feeling that was so intense it exhausted even him. And then she managed to get him there again, a libido he didn't think he had in him anymore.

Then there was her methods. Things beyond any Crime Alley prostitute. Though he doesn't know much about Cece Jermaine, what he does know is that she is drugs and only drugs, no sex work.

Certain...skills had to come from somewhere. Beyond that, the way she tended to cradle Slade's head in her hands or against her chest, figure out what he liked almost immediately after his reactions, observed his signs of climax so that she could continuously tease him and make that edge more and more unimaginable, made it seem all too familiar.

Had they slept before? Or does she have some sort of remarkable power of sense for these things?

Pink eyes, that definitely had to happen. It all sounds very familiar.

At night is when he strikes, this time clad in his full Deathstroke ensemble. He is careful to avoid any patrolling little birds or big bats as he heads to the other side of Crime Alley. 

Cece's townhouse, a clone of the ones around it, looks to be deserted. Slade enters with caution, half expecting the place to explode or go up in flames as he kicks down the back door.

Now that he is looking for them he can see the closest camera sitting above the laundry door. It's no doubt that his entry set off motion sensors, or at least an alarm, straight to their owner.

Having military grade tech as well as tech copied from Bats and heroes alike has its perks. Slade holds up a signal tracker to the camera. It scans the device and relays to him the receiving location of the feeds. It provides only coordinates, which Slade can apply to a normal map.

Found her.

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◊

"Darlin', darlin', darlin',
I fall to pieces when I'm with you, I fall to pieces
My cherries and wine, rosemarie and thyme
And all of my peaches, are ruined."

Tonight's club crowd go wild as they sway for Ginny Sinclair's arrangement of Lana Del Rey covers. Cherry is my favourite, partly because the backup singers have to say bitch and fuck more than any other word behind my dreamy voice.

I only had to ask and I was allowed to rearrange the entire set. Tonight was supposed to be classics, but that's only behind the scenes. No one was disappointed when I opened the night with This Is What Makes Us Girls. 

Lana Del Rey's music can take you to another level- especially when you're high. But more than that, it gives me serious Slade feels. After the day I had being so close to him, without being able to touch him or stay with him, I need to end this practically drowning in him so I can move on tomorrow.

So Lana I get.

The backup singers are jealous because I get whatever I want, but I'm the one bringing in the customers, so who do they think they are to complain?

"Love, is it real love?
It's like smilin' when the firin' squad's against ya',
And you just stay lined up, yeah."

I can't see a whole lot with human eyes, especially with stage lights shining in on me. I can see just the front of the fancy dancing crowd, the sprinkling of tables lining the wall, and if I focus, I can see the front door lit up with golden lights.

So when it opens up thanks to the door boy dressed in a cute little tux, it attracts my attention.

"Darlin', darlin', darlin',
I fall to pieces when I'm with you, I fall to pieces."

The moment I see him, the moment my eyes fall on his white hair, neatened up to pair with a suit that looks absolutely delicious on him, I lose my mind. For a few seconds I don't even register the fact that he found me, tracked me; I'm just excited that he's nearby.

He looks casual, calm, walking over to the bar lining the far wall. The tender greets him with a smile and takes his order. I get childishly giddy- He's going to hear me sing!

"My rose garden dreams, set on fire by fiends
And all my black beaches are ruined
My celluloid scenes are torn at the seams." 

When he starts to scan the club for either Cece, or her boss, I drop my eyes, pretending that I haven't noticed his arrival.

"And I fall to pieces."

This started so simple. First, I just wanted to sleep with him. My rebirthing mother is the Goddess of pleasure and love, so naturally I'm curious about that aspect, especially with people I greatly admire. After watching Slade take down those Hundred Hellmen I was hooked- on him, his skill, his body, so can you really blame me for using Rose to get to him? 

Everything changed when I saw that file. Fun turned into work- because I knew that file contained something that the client we were all serving wanted, but I wished to know what it was first. 

We're the targets of the same people. We could help each other. The idea of working with Slade on something like this is...euphoric. 

"I fall to pieces when I'm with you." 

So many opportunities.

And that's when my eyes meet his.

"'Cause I love you so much,
I fall to pieces." 

I can't help but wink as the song comes to an end.

"My cherries and wine, rosemarie and thyme
And all of my peaches, are ruined."

He throws back his whiskey.

"Are ruined."

His eye is locked onto me, brow furrowing for a moment as he tries to figure it out. Some ginger club singer has taken notice of him?

"Are ruined."

The backup singers chime the end, "Fuck!"