Mike's mind raced, churning through the void. A gift. A reasonable gift. What did that even mean in a cosmic, bureaucratic sense?
He needed something that couldn't be taken away. Something that was part of him.
"Thinking..." he murmured, his voice echoing slightly in the white expanse. "This is a big choice. You mess this up, you're dead. Day one. Probably from a spear. Or a mutated gorilla. Or a misunderstanding with..."
"I do not," Jack rumbled, his deep voice cutting through Mike's spiraling thoughts, "have all day for this. There is a pile-up of souls from a rather nasty plague in 1347 that I need to process. The paperwork is... biblical. Choose."
The impatience was the jolt Mike needed. He snapped his focus. "Okay, okay. You said my soul was mismatched. That I was supposed to be a medieval warrior, right?"
"Correct," the dog said, giving an impatient shake of his massive head.
"And that life, that... original me. He would have been... different. Physically. Not a college kid. He would have been strong. Really strong. Trained from birth."
Jack's ears twitched. "Go on."
"So," Mike said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. "You could add that in my wish and make it a bit less 'reasonable'?"
"That," Jack said slowly, sensing the pivot. "That would be a logical... compensation."
"Exactly," Mike pounced. "A compensation. Not a gift. That's just you guys fixing your first screw-up. That's just adding the base package. That doesn't cover the other compensation for the lifetime of damage you caused." He crossed his arms. "So, I'll take an overall better gift."
The great dog was silent for a long moment. Then, a low, deep sound rumbled from its chest... a canine chuckle.
"Audacious," Jack stated, and this time, there was open respect in his voice. "You're billing us for damages. Fine. You've got us. The 'compensation' is approved. Now... what is this 'a little less unreasonable' gift you're about to ask for?"
Mike didn't hesitate. "I want the full physical and mental ability set of Deathstroke."
Jack's head snapped up. "Define."
"Slade Wilson. DCU. You've seen my browser history, you know who I'm talking about," Mike said, his voice hard and fast. "I'm not asking for magic. I'm asking for the peak of human potential... and then some. Superhuman strength, speed, durability, and reflexes. The enhanced senses. The regenerative healing factor. And, most importantly, the brain. The 90% brain usage. The enhanced intellect. The tactical genius."
He leaned in. "You're sending me to a world of killers. A world I want to be in. You messed up my first life, you owe me. I'm not going in as a 'medieval warrior.' I'm going in as a one-man army. That is my compensation."
Jack stared at him, his black, intelligent eyes seeming to weigh Mike's very soul.
"The paperwork on this," the dog mused, "will be... a nightmare. That is far from a 'reasonable' gift, Anderson."
"And sending a warrior's soul into a 21st-century dorm room wasn't a 'reasonable' mistake," Mike shot back. "You owe me. Pay up."
"Heh." A full, canine smirk this time. "Done. Approved. The full package. Enhanced strength, speed, healing, senses... and the strategic mind to use it. You'll be a weapon the moment you arrive."
"Yes!" Mike pumped a spectral fist.
"Now," Jack said, his tone shifting back to pure business as the phantom pen and parchment reappeared. "Looks. You'll be a Grounder. You need to fit in. Any preference?"
"Make me look... like I'm supposed to," Mike said. "Make me look like... him."
The pen scratched faster. Subject requests 'Deathstroke' physical template.
"Fine," Jack said. "A few... adjustments... for the new hardware."
"And," Mike added, "reincarnation. Where and when? I want to be in Trikru. The Tree Crew. And I want to be an adult. Age 20. No parents, no siblings, no baggage. A clean slate."
The dog's grin became... unsettling. It was wide and full of teeth.
"Oh, Trikru? Age 20?" Jack rumbled, a note of pure mischief in his voice.
"Don't you worry, Mike. I've got the perfect way to get you there. A truly... special delivery."
"What way? What does that mean?"
"You'll find out," Jack said, clearly delighted. "The contract is filed. Step onto the other plate."
A new disc appeared, this one a flat, non-reflective black. Mike took a deep breath and stepped onto it. The moment his foot touched the surface, a low, powerful hum vibrated through his entire being.
"Good luck, Mike Anderson," Jack said, his voice now sounding a little more distant. "Try not to conquer the entire planet in the first week."
"What about my looks?!" Mike called out over the roar.
"You'll see!" the dog barked. "It's all in the contract!"
The white void collapsed, and the world folded. His soul was stretched, pulled, and then violently compressed into a new, waiting vessel.
He was gone.
(5 months before the 100 arrive on Earth)
The forest was alive.
Sunlight, thick and green, filtered through the canopy of a forest so dense it felt like the world's ceiling.
"You can't catch me, Kael!" a young girl's voice laughed. She was perhaps eight years old, wearing simple leathers, her black hair braided with beads.
"Can too, Elia!" a boy shouted back, barrelling through the undergrowth with two other children, all of them Trikru. They were playing "Raider and Scout," a game as old as their parents.
Elia, in her haste, didn't look where she was going. Her foot caught on nothing, on a patch of ground that simply... gave way. She yelped as she tumbled forward, not onto dirt, but into a dark, shallow pit hidden by ferns.
She landed with a thud on soft mud, the fall only a few feet. "Oof!"
"Elia!" Kael and the others skidded to a halt at the edge of the small hole. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" she called back, her voice slightly muffled. "It's... weird in here."
Curious, Kael slid into the pit, followed by the others. They found Elia brushing mud off her clothes. The "pit" wasn't a pit. It was a collapsed section of earth leading into a dark, narrow opening. The air coming from it was cold and stale.
"It's a cave," one of the kids whispered, his eyes wide.
"No," Kael said, touching the edge of the opening. "The walls... they're smooth. Like metal."
Elia, the bravest, lit a small tallow-and-rag torch she carried for emergencies. "Come on."
They crept forward, their small light pushing back a darkness that felt ancient. The tunnel was man-made, its walls rusted red. It sloped down, deeper into the earth.
After a minute of walking, the tunnel ended. It opened into a small, dark chamber, and Elia lifted her torch.
It fell on a door.
It was a massive, circular slab of steel, like the kind they'd heard about in stories of the Maun-deba... the Mountain Men. But this was different. This was here, in their woods.
In the center of the door, etched into the metal, was a symbol they had never seen before. It was pristine, untouched by rust.
It was a logo of two sleek katanas, crossed. And behind them, a modern, angular rifle.
The children stared, the blood draining from their faces. This was not a story. This was not a game.
They turned as one and ran, scrambling out of the hole and not stopping until they burst into the center of their village, screaming for the elders.