192-194

*Chapter 192: Boss, Batman Grabbed the Patrol Team*

"Commissioner Gordon from the GCPD officially went into the war zone today to negotiate with those two lunatics—seeing him come back unharmed, I'm genuinely happy; he's a real hero."

"Bill, it's been half a month now, and the GCPD hasn't even finished rebuilding. I admit they're trying hard, but their efforts are useless, just like the Batman they back—those two guys said, 'Hand over the Bat, end the war,' and he totally refused."

"Damn it, they're criminals! Frank, can you seriously believe what criminals say?"

"Batman isn't legal either, and neither is that whatever Kite Man who just popped up—geez, you guys are practically making them out to be heroes."

"Frank, they've saved hundreds of people in the last few days. If you could save that many people, I'd see you as a hero too."

"So what about the war? Joker and Riddler are evenly matched; someone's gotta break the stalemate!"

The Riddler watched the two anchors on the news having a pointless argument, felt a little bored, and casually turned off the TV.

Just then, the communicator in his pocket buzzed.

"Boss, the Freaky Biker Guy is back."

Two minutes later, in the council hall.

The Riddler looked at Cody in the center of the hall and asked, "Glad to see you back, but where's Kite Man?"

"Kite Man ran off."

Seeing Cody reporting so self-righteously, all the supervillains present collectively showed expressions of contempt.

That guy's just a nobody, no special abilities besides being able to fly with a kite. How can you report such an embarrassing outcome so casually?

Has Gotham City really fallen so low that we're getting supervillains this lame?

The Riddler didn't say a word. After a long silence, he finally spoke: "Suo Er."

"Here."

"I'm curious," he said. "Real curious. Did Kite Man shoot you?"

"Nah, he probably didn't bring a gun."

"He never landed?"

"Not exactly. He was actually standing on the ground at the time, with a woman and a kid."

"Was he too fast for you to shoot?"

"Nope, he took off slow enough for me to hit him."

"Didn't you have teammates with you?"

"Yeah, there was a patrol squad with rifles."

The Riddler's expression suddenly turned dark and furious. He asked, emphasizing each word, "So, how, the heck, did, you, let, him, get, away?"

"Batman showed up."

As soon as he said that, the looks around the room suddenly changed. Everyone was thinking, "Okay, that makes sense."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"You didn't ask."

The Riddler took a deep breath, pushing down the urge to kill.

Can't kill him, can't kill him. At least not just offhand. Gotta have a reason.

Otherwise, this loose alliance would just fall apart even more.

"Since you ran into the Bat, just getting away counts as a win. But what about the patrol squad?"

"How do you think I got away?"

"..."

The Riddler's hand instinctively reached for his waist. He really wanted to just shoot this useless screw-up.

But after a moment, he gripped his cane again instead.

"Forget it."

He told himself silently, trying to stay calm. What's the point? No need to get mad.

He finally figured something out: there was really no reason to waste any more time or energy on a character like the Freaky Biker Guy. Even if he messed things up again, he was just a low-IQ idiot anyway.

Why should he bother getting mad at him? The money was already spent; might as well just use him as cannon fodder.

"Never mind," he said to Cody. "Since Batman helped Kite Man, they've probably teamed up. Kite Man isn't likely to join us now, and we don't need to bother looking for him again anyway. He's just a small-timer."

"Besides him, the notable baddies in Gotham have already picked sides—either with us or with the Joker. Speaking of which, Slade, did you take care of those who didn't want to pick a side?"

"Everyone but Catwoman is handled."

A man stepped forward, responding to the Riddler. He wore a mask that was half black and half orange on his face and tactical armor on his body. He was armed with an automatic rifle, a pistol, and a tactical belt. He carried two long swords on his back and had an extendable staff tucked into his waist. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say he was armed to the teeth.

Slade Joseph Wilson, the world's deadliest mercenary, a top assassin, a super-soldier who gets the job done for money, a master strategist, a master combatant, a master of all weapons.

He was originally a soldier for the U.S. military. After a mission where he was near death, the military performed special modifications on him, giving him enhanced speed, strength, stamina, reflexes, and a healing factor. This saved his life and made Wilson, who was already a top soldier, an even deadlier force—the supervillain "Deathstroke."

"Catwoman's tough to handle?"

"She's really good at getting away, and Batman's got her back. Killing her? That'll cost you extra."

"How much extra?"

"Five times as much."

"Forget it," the Riddler shook his head. "Just a cat. She won't change the big picture. She's not worth that kind of price. We'll deal with her after we handle Batman."

Saying that, he looked at Cody again.

"Suo Er, you're going with Deathstroke to go on a mission tomorrow."

Cody looked at the Riddler, thinking, Wow, this guy's got guts. He's seen how I mess things up, and he still dares to send me on another mission, with Deathstroke?

"Gordon didn't agree to my demands, and he didn't agree to Joker's either. Good thing, though, I got intel from a dirty cop in the police force. Starting tomorrow, Batman's gonna be patrolling the war zone, so we can pinpoint his location tomorrow."

"You two go to the West End, set up a spot and lay an ambush. Take out that annoying Bat from a distance. If you can pull it off, great. If not, just find some of Joker's guys in the West End, whoever works—Mr. Freeze, Deadshot, Penguin, or maybe Solomon Grundy, who Joker easily swayed..."

"Take 'em out."

Deathstroke nodded, didn't say another word, and just turned and left.

Cody also nodded, thinking that with him and Deathstroke, a team-up between two strong forces, they could totally achieve a "one plus one is less than one" effect. The outcome of this assassination was already sealed.

It was definitely not going to succeed.

Meanwhile, in the Upper West Side.

Sitting behind his desk, the Joker picked up a communicator and took the call.

"Joker, Riddler's making a move."

"Hmm?"

"He sent Deathstroke, Slade. They're gonna ambush Batman in the West End tomorrow."

"Okay..."

The Joker casually picked up a pen and jotted down the address from the communicator onto a piece of paper.

"Oswald!" He folded the paper and yelled loudly towards the door.

"Get Deadshot in here."

*Chapter 193: Where the Heck Did You Pull That Bike From?*

The next day, in the Upper West Side afternoon.

"Heard you're pretty good with a gun," Slade remarked, kneeling on a rooftop, scanning the streets with his sniper rifle, checking out the surroundings. He tossed the comment casually to Cody beside him. "But you're better with... toy cars?"

"It's a bike, not a toy car. My shooting's just okay, nowhere near as good as yours," Cody lay prone beside him, also scanning the area with binoculars. But in his head, he'd already pulled up the system panel, looking at its evaluation of Deathstroke's gun skills over the past half-month. It was clearly rated Master level, which wasn't surprising at all.

"But I've got two eyes."

Deathstroke's hand instinctively went to the pistol on his hip. He only had sight in his left eye; his right was blind. And the weirdest thing was, he couldn't even remember why he'd gone blind. It was like from the moment "Deathstroke" came into existence, he was never meant to keep both eyes.

It didn't really bother him, though. In fact, he had a faint feeling that if his right eye ever went back to normal, he might feel... off. But whatever the case, being mocked by some nobody still made him want to draw his gun.

Seriously? This punk's looking down on me...

Wait, no!

Through the high-power sniper scope, Deathstroke's gaze suddenly locked on, instantly pushing Cody out of his mind – he saw a small black dot on a distant rooftop.

It was another sniper rifle.

A black sniper rifle, held by a figure wearing a white mask, with a bright red scope over his right eye.

Deadshot, he thought, and he's already spotted me through his scope.

On the other side, Deadshot had come to the same conclusion as Deathstroke. He knew Deathstroke had seen him too.

Shoot? Or keep waiting for Batman's signal?

In that instant, both men made their decision simultaneously.

BANG!

BANG!

Two bullets shot out from the tops of the two buildings, each heading straight for the other's scope.

And met in mid-air.

CLINK!

In that instant, both men's estimation of the other went up.

"Whoa, what the hell?!"

Cody jolted at Deathstroke's sudden shot. He twisted his head towards Deathstroke. "What are you—"

"Sni—"

Deathstroke dove into a roll, trying to shout a warning at the same time. Both his words and Cody's cut off abruptly, because he saw Cody instinctively mirror his tactical roll. Fast reflexes. This guy's survival instincts are top-tier.

Deadshot's scope wavered for a split second, losing Cody as a target. So he simply stopped himself from firing a second shot – if Cody had been a fraction slower just now, Deadshot's bullet would have already been out.

"Too bad," Deathstroke muttered, though it wasn't clear if he was regretting his first shot not hitting or remarking on Cody's quick reaction time.

He turned back, aimed another shot at the rooftop they'd just left, and then dove through the door leading inside the building. Clearly, he wasn't planning on getting into a long-range sniper duel with Deadshot. The odds weren't good enough.

"Whoa, wait up! I'm still here!"

Cody didn't hesitate, quickly scrambling through the rooftop door right behind him, his movements just as agile. After Deadshot rolled away from Deathstroke's bullet, he quickly raised his rifle again, but could only see the slowly closing steel door through his scope.

"Moving fast, huh?" He immediately lowered his rifle and repositioned on his roof, choosing a new sniping spot to prevent Deathstroke from peeking out and returning fire, and searching for the two figures inside the building through doors and windows. If they dared to show their faces or step outside the building, they'd be met with Deadshot's follow-up shots.

At the same time, a dark shape spread its wings, flying into the war zone between the buildings. Hearing the gunfire, he folded his cape in mid-air, reached for his grapple gun, and fired a line towards the battlefield where Deadshot and Deathstroke were clashing.

The Joker knew Batman had a Batmobile and a Batcycle. To limit his mobility, he'd set up checkpoints and roadblocks at many intersections in the Upper West Side. Because of this, Batman could only enter the area on foot (or rather, using his grapple and gliding).

Of course, the Batwing was still on standby in the air, but it was too conspicuous and didn't fit Batman's stealthy infiltration and strike style, so it was only meant for a retreat plan. Plus, the jet wasn't invincible; it could still crash if hit.

"Two gunshots... both distinct. Large caliber sniper rifles, custom-made." He rapidly assessed the situation at the center of the conflict. "Sounds familiar... The distance between them was huge at first, but the rate of return fire was high. The first shots were almost simultaneous."

"Two masters. Top-tier marksmen. Could it be Little Floyd... and Slade?"

"Here, at this exact time?"

"No – they're here to snipe me."

By the time he swooped onto the top of a balcony, Batman had pretty much pieced together the general situation in his mind.

"I have to stop them. I have to get them to cease fire. Two top mercenaries going at it in downtown Gotham... it's bound to hit bystanders."

He swung onto the balcony, but it was already empty. The shooter was gone without a trace.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT, RAT-A-TAT-TAT –

BANG, BANG, BANG –

Two more bursts of gunfire rang out. This time, the sounds were coming from the street near Gotham Central Station. The fighting style had also changed to rifle bursts. Deathstroke was using short, rapid bursts, ensuring lethality, while Deadshot didn't need to; he was returning fire shot by shot.

So, Batman headed for the Station Street chase.

While Batman was on his way, Cody was right beside Deathstroke, watching him trade fire with Deadshot, while staying safely hidden behind cover.

"Why didn't you bring your bike?" Deathstroke's tone was flat. "At least it's got some speed and can hide you a bit."

"Oh, that? I always keep it on me," Cody shrugged, pulling a folded bicycle out from under his black robe. "But if I show up in his line of sight, he's definitely gonna hit me, right?"

"Where did you pull that— never mind. From now on, listen to my tactics. You ride it along the route I set, and I'll use that chance to close in on Deadshot and take him in close combat."

"Won't that put me in a lot of danger?"

Deathstroke's hand went to his gun again.

"Alright, alright, let's talk this through, no need for the gun, man."

Through Deadshot's scope, a shadow suddenly flashed across a gap in a narrow alley.

"Hmm?"

He immediately swung his rifle but didn't pull the trigger – the moment the figure appeared, he'd already completed the calculation in his head. The distance between his position and that gap was about 740 meters. The bullet would take about a second to fly there. The figure was only visible for about half a second. No shot possible.

But then again, was that... a bike? Why was it moving so crazy fast? Was that the weird Bike Guy from TV?

*Chapter 194: Deadshot VS Deathstroke*

Deadshot aimed his rifle at the exit of the alley.

He was a top-tier marksman. Just from that one observation a moment ago, he'd already calculated the target's speed and the exact moment they'd appear.

Even if they were hiding inside for now, there was no way they could ultimately escape his sniper shot.

However, the next second, a bicycle moving at an insane speed flew straight out of a ninth-floor window and zipped into the ninth floor of the building next door.

"?"

Deadshot stared at the flying bike, but his aiming and shooting were purely instinctive. While his brain was still processing, his body had already instinctively pulled the trigger.

Bang!

A muffled boom echoed from the rooftop. His bullet tore through the black-robed figure on the bike in mid-air, leaving a black bullet hole on the building's outer wall.

Hit him?

Yeah, hit him.

Based on a shooter's intuition, Deadshot was sure his shot had hit.

But the next second, that figure flashed across the street again. Their speed hadn't dropped off, their movements were still agile, showing no signs of injury.

Didn't hit him?

Deadshot had originally thought this guy on the bike was just some low-threat nobody, and once he was dealt with, he could focus on Deathstroke. But now, he realized that plan wasn't looking so easy to pull off.

He slightly adjusted the electronic eye on his mask and raised his gun again.

Bang! Bang!

Meanwhile, seeing Cody successfully lure the enemy alone, the solitary Deathstroke started running hard. With speed comparable to a speeding car, he rapidly closed in on Deadshot's position from his blind spot.

"Man, Deadshot's really intense."

Cody wasn't wearing the ghost mask anymore; he had a pumpkin on his head instead. Deadshot's shooting skill was just ridiculous. Whether he peeked out or not, he was practically guaranteed to catch a vital shot at some intersection. By now, two pumpkins on his head were already shattered.

Even though he tried his best to pick routes that would keep him hidden from Deadshot's view, and show his body as little as possible in the scope, Deadshot's shooting wasn't human at all. He just needed to pinpoint Cody's location to land a hit.

At the same time, Cody actually had to try and move towards Deadshot's direction, which meant he was inevitably exposed. Even though his route choices were super flexible and his speed was crazy fast, Deadshot was still practically turning him into Swiss cheese. He even used different high-power bullets, trying to cause some serious damage to Cody.

"Seriously, man... what's the deal?"

Bang!

Another gunshot rang out. A fiery blast reeking of gunpowder smoke and a huge shockwave erupted from the muzzle. A scorching metal bullet spun out, tearing through the air and sound. It grazed and hit a rebar sticking out of a broken wall, then ricocheted, hit a beat-up car by the road, bounced off the car a second time, and finally struck Cody directly behind his cover.

"Crap!"

Cody cursed under his breath about the intense 'push back' he felt, then promptly hit the ground. His body twitched, and bright red blood gushed from under his black robe, pooling on the ground.

This was why he got shot even when he didn't show his head, and not just once. As long as the bullet could theoretically hit him, Deadshot would use the gun in his hands to make that theory a reality.

From Deadshot's perspective, he could now see the target down on the ground, with part of his body exposed outside the cover. He'd originally wanted to follow up with a shot to a vital spot, but the target was completely down, and strangely, there wasn't a clear shot angle anymore.

So he just casually put five or six extra shots into the part exposed from cover.

For the first three shots, the body wrapped in the black robe still twitched a couple times. After the next few shots, it became completely unresponsive.

Dead... finally?

Deadshot finally breathed a sigh of relief. This guy had taken several hits from him. The bullets went through the black robe every time, but he never saw any blood. He was almost starting to wonder if there was really just a ghost or a phantom under that cloak.

After all, if the bullets had been stopped by body armor, there's no way there'd be bullet holes in the ground.

But actually, the pumpkin's protection mechanism for Cody was damage absorption, not blocking attacks. So the bullets weren't stopped. This was the pumpkin's way of 'adapting its mechanics' to the real world.

Right now, Cody was lying on the ground, chewing glumly on a Pocky stick and sighing. As far as he was concerned, he just needed to put in a token effort on the mission Riddler gave him. No matter how much he was paid, there was no way he was going to risk his life for the guy.

But now, the plan to lure the enemy had actually worked a little too well. Deadshot seemed to think Cody was challenging his professional skills, totally focusing on him and forcing him to just fall down and play dead.

"Ugh, it's way easier just lying here..." He sighed again. "...Wish I could just be a couch potato forever."

As Deathstroke closed in on Deadshot and the two started duking it out, the rapid gunshots got more intense. Bursts and single shots mixed together. Batman was rushing full speed towards the scene of their fight, and Cody immediately scrambled up from the ground.

He hopped on his bike and sped away.

If it weren't for wanting to trigger the "I Didn't Kill Anyone" skill for Deadshot, he would have just kept playing dead until the fight was over, or just bailed right away. But those two mercenaries seemed to have fought their way from the street all the way to the Central Station—and there were still quite a few people there. So Cody had to go.

By the time Cody reached the station entrance, he could already hear the sounds of Deadshot and Deathstroke clashing inside, along with people screaming. Clearly, they'd been evenly matched in their mid-range fight, and now the battle had moved into close quarters.

The bad news was, the station was still operating, because as the war dragged on, a significant number of Gotham City residents were starting to try and escape the city.

Inside the station, Deathstroke had pulled the two combat swords from his back. He was a military-enhanced human to begin with, and his movement now looked even more uncanny and swift. A normal person's bare eyes could barely track his movements and body actions at all; they could only see a blurry black and yellow shape.

Meanwhile, Deadshot had both hands up, unloading fire from two mini submachine guns at Deathstroke as he flipped out from behind a counter.

Two streams of bullets were locked onto Deathstroke—shooting like this was like child's play for him.

Deathstroke gripped his long swords tight. Thanks to his enhanced eyesight and reflexes, the bullets' trajectories were almost clearly visible to him.

Clang, clang, clang—the pair of swords in his hands became two streaks of light. Slade used his terrifying physical prowess and the tough alloy swords to deflect most of the incoming bullets. Only a few non-damaging rounds were deliberately let through to hit his armor, but even their impact only slightly slowed his stride.

At this point, the crowds inside the station were already running in terror, surging towards the exits.