Ch.203 Misunderstanding

After Dr. Holloway admitted his secret identity, Su Ming knew that he was willing to cooperate. Although Su Ming could easily act alone, if he wanted to achieve more in a limited amount of time, he needed a few capable helpers.

Steve was already busy selling instant noodles for him, and all eyes were on Captain America. With Captain America serving as the perfect decoy, Su Ming could operate in the shadows to do what he needed.

There were a lot of masked heroes and villains in New York right now, but the only ones Su Ming saw as useful were Avenging Angel and the Human Torch.

Among the remaining ones, while Mr. E and others were good, they were mostly detectives. Su Ming needed soldiers for the battlefield.

"I suspect that Phantom Bullet's death is tied to foreign spies. Would you like to investigate with me?" Su Ming got straight to the point—once he started taking action, he needed to move quickly and decisively.

"Of course, I would have pursued it even if you hadn't shown up," Dr. Holloway nodded but still looked puzzled. "But you're a mercenary. Who hired you?"

To be honest, there was no employer for this particular mission. Su Ming was acting out of concern for the future.

He wanted to live freely. Whether it was Nazi Germany or Hydra, or even U-Man ruling the world, they were all authoritarian maniacs. If they took over, Su Ming's free life would be over.

Raise the right arm, raise both fists, or pat the chest—did it really matter which one? Unless Su Ming hid out in places like Kamar-Taj or Antarctica, he wouldn't be living a normal life.

Even those places weren't safe, though—U-Man could flood the world at any time.

So, in response to the doctor's question, Su Ming simply gave a mysterious smile, pointing one finger toward the sky. Whatever the doctor chose to interpret that as was up to him.

He could take it as the will of God or divine intervention—it all depended on the doctor's beliefs.

Dr. Holloway squinted, thinking he understood.

He assumed Su Ming's actions came from secret orders, perhaps from the military or the White House.

Using Captain America as a front, perhaps their super-soldier program had been active for over a decade now.

Maybe over the years, and in the future that Two-Gun Kid spoke of, Deathstroke had been eliminating targets under government orders—cleaning up for the higher-ups.

Crafty, these politicians were really crafty.

But that reasoning was enough. If he asked too many questions, Deathstroke might kill him to keep things quiet afterward.

The doctor nodded, giving Su Ming a knowing look. Su Ming returned the smile, though only he knew what the doctor thought he had understood.

"Shall we go to the morgue to take a look at the body?"

Su Ming stood up and straightened his coat. He didn't want to stay in a place reeking of urine any longer. Now that Avenging Angel was on board, they could begin.

"Follow me to my office. I need to make a few calls and arrange some things," Dr. Holloway said, heading for the door.

"That's too much trouble. Let me show you how to handle things."

Su Ming grabbed the doctor by the arm, wrapping an arm around his neck as he walked him downstairs.

Though the doctor wanted to resist, Su Ming's grip was like a steel trap, holding him firmly. Dr. Holloway had no choice but to say goodbye to the front desk nurse, making up an excuse that he was going out of town for a consultation and would need the sanatorium to hire a replacement for a few days.

It was a good cover, and Su Ming, satisfied, shoved him into the car.

"Gin, to the New York City Forensics Center," Su Ming ordered.

"Yes, boss," came the driver's reply.

Once in the car, Su Ming released the doctor, letting him look around.

Meanwhile, Su Ming pressed a few buttons, and the console in the middle of the car rose up, its sides sliding open like a cabinet to reveal its contents.

Under the lights, a black and yellow suit was displayed, surrounded by various weapons and gear.

There were automatic rifles, shotguns, handguns, grenades, gadgets, a golden curved dagger, and a giant black sword.

Su Ming swiftly removed his outer clothing and donned the suit, then fastened his mask. The crimson lenses over his eyes began rapidly flashing strings of numbers.

Dr. Holloway looked on with a bit of envy. He didn't have such a fancy car, nor this level of equipment. Even his weapons were hand-me-downs.

But he had no intention of working for money—that went against his principles. He wore the mask to uphold justice, not for profit.

"He just called you boss. So your cover is that of a businessman?" the doctor asked.

"That's right. And if I remember correctly, you're one of my loyal customers."

Su Ming's voice, altered by a voice modulator, now sounded rough and intimidating.

"I don't recall ever hiring an assassin," Dr. Holloway quipped, rolling his eyes upward as if trying to remember. He had never used underhanded tactics; hiring a hitman was too extreme.

"God bless you. What are you even thinking?"

Su Ming chuckled, shaking his head as he casually closed the cabinet, then pulled out a bottle of liquor from a slot below and tossed it to the doctor.

Dr. Holloway caught the fast-moving bottle easily in the speeding car. Looking at the label, he instantly understood.

It was a bottle of Skywalker liquor.

This only reinforced his belief that Su Ming was working for the president. Everyone knew that the man in the White House was a staunch opponent of Prohibition.

Skywalker liquor first appeared in 1925, and it spread widely across New York.

If it weren't backed by a powerful political family, how could it have survived, even outlasting the mob during that era?

The doctor had already built a narrative in his mind of a young president pulling strings behind the scenes—using liquor to fund his campaign, eliminate political rivals, and much more.

Dirty—those who play the game of tactics always have dirty hands.

Su Ming: "???"

He watched as the doctor stared at the bottle, seemingly lost in thought. Sure, the liquor in his car was top-shelf, but was it really that moving?

To be honest, Su Ming had only been able to track down Dr. Holloway's address and workplace thanks to the liquor delivery service's records.

The comic book information wasn't reliable anymore, so Su Ming had to rely on real-world investigation.

Fortunately, Dr. Holloway liked to drink, and anyone who drank in New York had surely called on Midnight Express for deliveries.

Of course, "Midnight" was a misnomer these days. They now delivered during the day too, and there was no need to sneak around through manholes anymore.

Su Ming had quickly found the doctor's address through their delivery records. Dr. Holloway didn't just drink; he drank the best.

For instance, Skywalker 25-Year Reserve, Skywalker King Supreme Whiskey, Skywalker Bold Invincible Rum Gift Pack—these absurd names were all coined by Su Ming. But clearly, these timeless product names paired with marketing had worked. The distillery was still bringing in steady profits.

Recently, though, women had become the main clientele—mostly widows or grieving mothers.

"Drink up, no need to be polite. I've got plenty of liquor," Su Ming said, pulling the doctor out of his reverie. He then retrieved a set of armor from the side cabinet and handed it to Dr. Holloway. "Your old suit is probably worn out, so I prepared a new one for you."

This new suit wasn't anything particularly fancy—it was just thin steel chainmail painted blue for aesthetics. It was a bit heavy, but with Dr. Holloway's physical strength, he could handle it.

The heroes nowadays didn't even have bulletproof vests. How were they supposed to survive on the battlefield?

Avenging Angel's current suit looked like a blue set of long underwear... for the sake of appearances, he should switch to the chainmail, at least.

"We can save the drinks for later. We have more pressing matters. But I'll accept the suit—thank your employer for me. I won't overstep my bounds, and please keep my identity confidential."

Dr. Holloway, filling in the gaps in his mind, believed that the suit represented official recognition and a bribe for his silence.

"We know who you are. We have power and wealth. Cooperate and work for the country, or else..." was the underlying message he imagined.

Dr. Holloway had no desire to defy the government. Serving his country was one of his dreams. So, amid all the misunderstandings and mental leaps, he readily accepted the mission.

Su Ming didn't care how he interpreted things—after all, he had successfully convinced him. And it seemed like the doctor had accepted Deathstroke's leadership, which was a good outcome.