Ch.51 Bitten by the Tail

Several small black and yellow balls were tossed out of the door, flying towards the crowd. They were about the size of golf balls, with a green fluorescent button on them, flashing faintly.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A series of explosions echoed, and the intense gunfire in the hallway suddenly thinned out. Replacing it, the sound of gunshots turned into screams. Many of the women in black suits were clutching their eyes, rolling on the ground.

These high-powered flashbangs didn't just blind. The sudden damage to the optic nerve also affected the brain, causing a loss of balance and direction, rendering them incapable of action. Stun grenades could achieve a similar effect, but they worked through sudden loud noises and high-frequency vibrations. In such a confined underground space, they were indiscriminate.

Choosing the right weapon was as important as choosing the right tactic.

Seeing their opponents lose combat effectiveness, Su Ming and Cindy didn't hold back. For Deathstroke, anyone blocking his path needed to be eliminated. He immediately drew his twin swords, rushing into the crowd, and Cindy was doing the same.

In the stark white hallway, four gleaming blades shone brightly, dazzling to the eye.

With each flash of the blades, one or more heads flew into the air. Severed limbs of all kinds scattered everywhere, blood splattering every inch of the walls and floor.

Their fighting styles were slightly different. Cindy, being smaller, preferred to weave in and out of the crowd, exploiting gaps and slicing through formations to find weak points and opportunities.

Su Ming, on the other hand, favored a crushing combat style, using his enhanced strength to cut down everything in his way with his twin blades.

They could both use each other's combat styles since they were proficient in all techniques. However, there were differences in habits between worlds, and besides, Su Ming was a time traveler.

This straightforward method of pushing forward made his blood boil, satisfying his desire for slaughter.

He felt much warmer, as if a large amount of unfamiliar memories were flooding his mind. For a moment, he recalled countless times he had hacked down enemies like this, even remembering the expressions on their faces clearly.

These were Slade's memories, completely different from Su Ming's own, filled with violence and bloodshed.

When he felt the coldness return, only he and Cindy were left standing in the hallway. The broken and dismembered bodies of the enemies littered the ground, along with shattered weapons. Even the anti-tank gun had been broken in half.

"Good, we're getting closer to Falcone," Cindy flicked the blood off her blade, nodding in satisfaction. She preferred using swords; they were reliably lethal, so she didn't need to check the bodies on the ground.

"Huff… maybe I really need to get a good meal and some sleep somewhere," Su Ming shook his head, trying to calm himself down. Perhaps Cindy was right, and his self-healing factor was at work, affecting his emotions.

As Slade's memories continued to resurface, he became unsure of his own identity. Who was he really?

He had Deathstroke's body and memories, so he should logically be Slade Wilson. But then, where did the memories of being Su Ming come from?

The confusion of memories and the bloodlust intertwined, making him feel irritable. Fortunately, he could still control his emotions for now. From what he remembered from the comics, this blood-crazed madness wouldn't last too long, probably subsiding by the next morning.

That was, if he could get enough food and rest. Cindy's crazy stew earlier—he had barely taken a few bites of it. The turkey, on the other hand, everyone had eaten. It tasted okay but had a bit of that refrigerator smell.

But now, it seemed like it wasn't just a problem with the self-healing factor. There was definitely some confusion with his memories too.

Cindy patted his shoulder and motioned for the three people hiding in the room to follow them. This was a bit difficult for Barbara. The hallway was filled with corpses, making it hard for her wheelchair to move through. She was thinking that if she had to go to places like this often, she should consider switching her wheels for tracks.

"Are your self-healing cells acting up again?" Cindy asked him.

"It's under control." Su Ming put away his swords and patted his head, scavenging through the pile of bodies on the ground for usable bullets.

"As long as you don't get hurt. If you get injured again and the self-healing cells start working faster, you might lose control." Cindy knew exactly what was happening to her body. If Su was like her, then he'd be facing the same issue. "Once we deal with Falcone, we can 'borrow' some equipment from a hospital. There are a few good doctors in Gotham who could give you a brain scan."

While talking, she was doing the same thing as Su Ming. She'd nearly run out of ammo during the zombie attack.

"No need. It's not the right time yet."

Su Ming rejected her suggestion. Even if they resolved the Falcone issue, they were only halfway through. There wasn't enough time to get a check-up. Besides, who were the doctors Cindy knew in Gotham?

He certainly didn't want Professor Hugo or Dr. Pyg treating him. He didn't want to wake up missing or gaining any organs.

"Suit yourself, but don't give me trouble in the middle of a fight." Cindy shrugged. If Su Ming was this adamant, there was no point in persuading him further.

"Don't joke around. These mobsters aren't exactly a challenge for us."

He straightened up and continued forward with Cindy. The blood in the hallway was deep enough to soak their shoes, and behind them, the three others were following. Vick looked excited, while Barbara and Pete were pale and constantly gagging.

Earlier, when they were killing monsters on the upper floors, it was a bit easier. But now, seeing so many human bodies, their instincts made them feel afraid.

The hallway twisted and turned, leading who knew where. However, he could sense that the resistance from the women in black was growing stronger, which meant they were getting closer to their target.

As they moved forward, slaughtering along the way, more memories flooded back to him. He remembered dozens of bank accounts and passwords, secret safe houses, and weapon caches scattered across the world, even his most recent assassination missions. It made his head throb painfully, but under his helmet, his face showed no sign of it. He simply followed Cindy silently.

On the way, they found a small room with its lights on. The silk sheets showed signs of someone having slept there.

On the nightstand was a bottle of medication labeled with James Gordon's name.

"Hmm… Falcone even brought your dad's pain meds." Su Ming picked up the bottle and tossed it to Barbara. "I have to say, he's pretty considerate. Gordon should be safe for now."

Barbara caught the bottle and examined it closely. She recognized it; this bottle had been in the medicine cabinet at home, and the doctor's prescription on it was written in a familiar hand.

"How did these guys sneak into my house? My dad installed so many security measures." Barbara was frustrated. These villains were always so persistent.

"Gordon can catch thieves for a thousand days, but he can't guard against them for a thousand days. When someone's determined to get into your house, no security system will stop them. How do you think your place compares to the Batcave?" Su Ming took off his gloves and touched the bed sheets. There was no warmth left, indicating Gordon had been gone for at least half an hour.

Bruce's security measures were decent, but hadn't Cindy still managed to break into her home?

Cindy also looked at the bottle, took out two pills, and tasted them. She confirmed they were aspirin. "It's very easy to bypass security systems. For instance, you could coerce the manufacturer of the security equipment. These things often have a master code or frequency."

"Or hire professionals like us. All security systems are useless against us." Su Ming took the bottle back and swallowed a few pills himself. Maybe it was a placebo effect, but his headache eased considerably, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Turning away from the small room, he continued speaking while pocketing the pillow from the bed.

Since someone had prepared painkillers for Gordon, it meant he wasn't unharmed. Having a pillow when your head hurt was a good thing, and the silk fabric could be torn up to make bandages or splints.

If Gordon didn't need it, he could give it to Falcone.

Killing and compassion weren't mutually exclusive. Maybe after killing Falcone, he'd let him rest his head on this pillow. Even a cold corpse might show a smile.

Though his headache had lessened, the chaotic memories made him want to kill someone to vent his frustration.