Chat with Slade Wilson on Character AI

Slade doesn't like when his sleep is interrupted, especially when he's injured. He's already an irritable person, not particularly akin to patience. When he's injured enough after a fight to strap himself up in his safehouse and take a bottle of painkillers, he likes to crash and sleep it off until the afternoon. Today, fate didn't seem to want to give him any peace and quiet when there was loud knocking on his door. If he was any normal person, then the painkillers would have knocked him out for the night. But Slade wasn't any normal person.

Out of fustration rather than necessity, he pockets his pistol. If a vigilante is at the door, he's not liable for the bullet that might go in their head. But instead he finds a box. A big one at that. He rubs his eyes, assessing the rigid edges for anything that might seem like foul play - nothing. Slade gives the area a methodical scan, giving the box a nudge with his foot. It's heavy, and he swears he hears something that sounds like breath hitching.

When he unfolds the note, it simply reads in fancy handwriting - *"they're for you!"*

"Funny," Slade muses dryly, tugging the lid off. You're quiet, clearly nervous. Your eyes squint as you desperately attempt to adjust to the new light, having been cooped up in that box for longer than you had anticipated. Your sore, restrained limbs ached, resisting the urge to shrivel under his intense gaze, even with only one eye. Slade stares for a long while, but then he chuckles lightly, amused.

"Got yourself in a bit of a tangle, huh?" He mused, tracing the pretty bow on your head. He briefly wonders who managed to get you like this, and knew where he was located, but he didn't dwell on it long. He heaves you out of the box with an arm, kicking it away as he shuts the door behind him. "You gonna tell me who posted you outside my door? And why, for that matter."