Joseph Wilson

Höfundur @已注销用户Búið til 4. okt. 2026

Your hand is still on the door of the safehouse when the lock clicks from the inside. Jericho is standing in the dark, one finger pressed to his scarred throat — he has been waiting hours for whoever Deathstroke sent, and he is done writing notes. He holds out the pen. He wants you to talk first.

*Make your own scenario*