What would happen to Gotham after the livestream was cut? Chaos? Panic? That wasn’t Su Ming’s concern in the slightest. If disorder was enough to draw out the Bat, all the better.

  He scooped up Barbara and gently settled her into the wheelchair before pushing her into the back of the van.

  “Nice performance. You’ve got a real knack for broadcasting,” he said.

  Vika, standing nearby, couldn’t help but purse her lips in annoyance. Just acting is enough to make a good anchor? She’d spent years honing her craft—makeup, etiquette, general knowledge—it wasn’t something you could just wing.

  Barbara was trembling, soaked to the bone, her lips pale and quivering. Still, she managed to whisper, “If we do this… will it keep my father safe?”

  Su Ming gestured for Vika and Pete to get in. Still bound from the earlier “kidnapping,” they cmbered up reluctantly. Cindy started the engine with a low growl.

  “I can’t say for sure,” Su Ming replied as he rummaged through the cabin. He found a towel and handed it to Barbara. “But using my name as leverage? That’ll buy your father time.”

  He met her gaze with a calm steadiness. “It adds risk for the kidnappers. The moment they think they've pissed off Deathstroke, they’ll have to reassess their entire pn. Every threat, every tactic—it all gets reevaluated. That hesitation? That’s the window we need.”

  Cindy’s foot hit the gas, the van surging forward. Her reflexes were preternatural, making the high-speed drive look effortless. She even had the bandwidth to jump into the conversation.

  Barbara gave Su Ming a thankful nod, her voice softer now. “Thank you… You’re a good man.”

  “Let’s not go throwing around the G-word,” Su Ming said, waving her off. “Once Gordon’s safe, I’m sending him a bill.”

  Barbara giggled despite herself. “You really don’t seem like a killer. You even joke.”

  To her, it was a lighthearted comment. To Su Ming, it was just another mask. But at least she’d started to rex, her rigid posture finally softening. Maybe the reputation of “the world’s deadliest mercenary” could offer a little comfort after all.

  Across from them, Vika sat quietly, eyes narrowed in disbelief. This is the end of days, she thought. Deathstroke—the world-famous psycho killer—is chatting up the police commissioner’s daughter like it’s Sunday brunch. And they just livestreamed a fake-death stunt that makes zero sense. Am I in a comic book?

  And if she understood correctly, Deathstroke was now heading out to rescue Commissioner Gordon… after putting a 2 million bounty on keeping him alive.

  Killing to save someone. That’s the most backwards, yet oddly logical, thing I’ve ever heard.

  Unable to resist, Vika ignored Pete’s desperate don’t-you-dare side-eye and leaned forward.

  “You know,” she said to Su Ming, “that logic… it’s bizarre. But also kind of poetic.”

  Su Ming turned to her, noting how she hadn’t appeared in the livestream. The station probably assumed she was dead. Now here she was, shaking off fear like it was yesterday’s news—cssic reporter instincts.

  “Bance,” he said simply. “One life for another. I do what must be done.”

  He removed his helmet. The interior was warm now, and the condensation had turned the inside into a makeshift sauna. Never realized how uncomfortable this suit was until now, he thought.

  Vika blinked in surprise—so Deathstroke was a man. Only for a second, though. She quickly slipped back into reporter mode.

  “So… do you think you’re insane, Mr. Deathstroke? Have you ever looked at yourself and thought something’s not quite right?”

  Pete’s eyes widened. Jesus, woman, are you trying to die?

  But Su Ming was intrigued. It was a question the version of her in another world had once asked Batman. He gave the same answer.

  “Do you think this world is normal?”

  It hit like a cold sp of truth. Vika paused, visibly mulling it over. She fell silent.

  Pete, on the other hand, practically defted with relief. Screw this. I’m quitting when we get back. I don’t care how much they pay me—this is nuts.

  From the driver’s seat, Cindy raised an eyebrow at Su Ming’s answer, strangely impressed. She didn’t realize he’d just recycled a quote from a comic panel—she thought it was some ancient Eastern proverb, deep and wise.

  The van roared through rain-drenched streets, cutting through alleys and intersections like a predator on the hunt. They encountered a few opportunistic muggers and road thugs—scavengers emboldened by the storm. But all Cindy had to do was lean out the window slightly, and the wannabe tough guys fled like cockroaches from a fshlight.

  By this point, Vika wasn’t even scared anymore. She was fascinated. Deathstroke didn’t seem like a lunatic—more like a man with a worldview. A terrifying, coherent worldview.

  When another group of thugs scattered before they could even engage, she let out a disappointed sigh.

  “You sound disappointed,” Su Ming noted. “Hoping to see some carnage?”

  “No, no,” Vika waved her hands quickly. “Just thought we might get some action footage. The audience loves a good fight scene.”

  Su Ming smirked. “Well, if we find the crew that grabbed Gordon, and we go in guns bzing… you can film all you want. Just make sure your cameraman doesn’t puke.”

  It was a fair trade. After all, she was something of a lucky charm in the DC universe—not someone you wanted to piss off too badly. As for Pete… just the sight of the hulking six-foot-three man practically curling into himself like a Victorian maiden made Su Ming want to gag.

  “Awesome! He’ll be fine, won’t you, Pete?”

  Under her steely gaze, Pete nodded weakly, eyes screaming betrayal. Su Ming had to turn away—this is too much.

  Vika beamed and scooted closer between Barbara and Su Ming. “Thanks! If this works out, it’ll be another exclusive.”

  “Mutual benefit,” Su Ming said. “Us mercs need some PR too. And TV isn’t a bad ptform.”

  If there was a future left for this world, Su Ming wouldn’t mind drumming up some business—for himself or for Cindy.

  Vika’s eyes lit up. She whipped out a notebook and flipped it open like she was about to do a formal interview.

  Su Ming raised an eyebrow. “I thought you worked for a TV station.”

  “TV reporters can still use notebooks! So, Mr. Deathstroke, mind telling me what your retionship is with the other Deathstroke up front? Or is she the real one and you’re just the decoy?”

  Cindy burst out ughing. That was the kind of recognition she liked—everyone assuming she was the real deal. Meanwhile, Su Ming? He was starting to look more and more like a gritty Batman spinoff.

  Su Ming sighed and drew his sword from his back. “I should just kill you all. It’d be simpler.”

  “NOOO!!!”

  “…Rex. I’m joking. Batgirl likes you. Half the lunatics in this city are your fans. Hell, the Joker’s probably watching your coverage from Arkham right now.”

  At the mention of Batgirl, Vika’s eyes sparkled with renewed curiosity.

  “Really? Then why hasn’t she come to see me? If I give you my address and number, can you pass them on? I’d love to do a one-on-one interview.”

  “Who are we talking about now—Batgirl or the Joker?”

  “Either! I’m not picky,” she said, licking her lips like a sleazy old man from one of Su Ming’s past lives.

  “You’re out of your damn mind,” Su Ming muttered, ughing despite himself. “Are there any sane people left in this city?”

  The van was filled with ughter and banter—except for Barbara. At the mention of the Joker, her back stiffened, phantom pain fring along her spine.

  She didn’t ugh.