Ch.48 Burgled

Bryce carried her wine glass and led the two of them to the study next to the living room. Without saying a word, they could see a trail of dark footprints on the floor, leading towards the back of the bookshelf.

There were also a few dirty handprints on the piano keys, left by soiled gloves.

"Uh-oh."

Barry Allen realized he was witnessing another crime scene, and this one was inside Batman's home, even if it was a parallel universe's Batman. This was far too rare.

Bryce narrowed her eyes at the footprints. They were left by a specific type of tactical combat boots, with no distinct tread, just segments of metal surfaces.

Of course, she recognized these footprints, but she usually saw them in blood, not mud.

"Deathstroke?! How did she get in here?" Bryce immediately flew into a rage. Having an annoying assassin sneak into her home was infuriating: "Alfred, call the police department and find out what Deathstroke has been up to in the city lately."

Barry Allen didn't seem too concerned. It was as if hearing the name Deathstroke didn't faze him, instead, he almost looked relieved.

"Oh, your world's Deathstroke? Give her my regards, heh." He glanced at the black handprints on the piano and then calculated the stride length: "Looks like she took the turkey. You see the splatter pattern of mud next to the footprints? The stride length is consistent, which means she was lighter when she came in and heavier when she left, likely carrying only the missing food."

"I know, I'm just trying to figure out why this psychopathic assassin broke into my house." Bryce pressed a few keys on the piano, and the bookshelf silently slid open, revealing a dark passage.

"Huh? Isn't Deathstroke supposed to be on our side?" Barry scratched his head, finding it strange.

Back on Earth-0, many heroes and villains had only tried to escape this impending crisis. But Deathstroke, the mercenary, had actively come to help. Why was it different here?

Bryce was equally surprised. "Your Deathstroke is on your side?"

This question stumped Barry. After all, Deathstroke's actions were hard to define.

"How do I put it... he's primarily on the side of money. That's probably the same everywhere."

Bryce nodded in agreement.

"He's done a lot of bad things, killed a lot of people. Half of the unsolved cases I have, I suspect he did them."

Bryce nodded again, agreeing with that assessment.

"But many times, he's also helped save the world, assisted the Justice League in fending off alien invaders and enemies, risking his life repeatedly. So, he's really a complicated person."

This time, Bryce didn't nod. Instead, she rubbed her chin, her lips turning downward as she thought deeply.

After a moment, she snapped back and gestured for Barry to follow her into the Batcave, talking as they walked: "Our Deathstroke probably doesn't know about this world-ending situation yet. If I tell her, what do you think are the chances she'll help us?"

"Absolutely, Batwoman. If you can convince her, she won't stand by. If you think convincing her is difficult, writing a big check could work too." Barry understood what kind of person Slade was, but he didn't know this world's Deathstroke, so he could only make a general suggestion.

"I won't bother with the turkey theft for now, but I need to know what she did in my base!"

Bryce hadn't even finished speaking when her eyes widened.

The Batcave was a mess. There were signs of damage everywhere, and the ground was littered with footprints of various sizes. Used dishes were scattered across a table. Even her beloved giant dinosaur had a hole in its head, occasionally sparking with a few electrical arcs.

The system used to monitor the city had been hacked. The large screen was now showing constantly switching surveillance footage, and a data cable dangled from the console, indicating that Deathstroke had used a physical connection to hack the system.

Bryce wasn't surprised that Deathstroke could take down her mechanical dinosaur, since it was meant to deter petty criminals, not world-class assassins like Deathstroke. But she had never known Deathstroke was also a computer expert, and one even better than herself.

With a flash of lightning, Barry appeared atop the dinosaur's head. He bent down and inspected the marks left on it.

There were footprints on the dinosaur's head, black handprints around the eye sockets, and water stains on the tail. He quickly deduced Slade's tactical maneuvers, replaying the scene in his mind.

This confirmed that only Deathstroke could execute such a precise strike targeting weaknesses like a surgical blade. Many who could do it wouldn't think of this tactic, and those who could think of it couldn't keep up physically.

He then analyzed the other traces on the ground.

A woman wearing high heels, a burly man in sneakers, and a person in a wheelchair—they had really come here for a campout, leaving a mess of dishes, including the leftover turkey.

The only thing he didn't understand was why there were two types of Deathstroke footprints—one slightly larger and heavier, and the other slightly smaller and lighter.

He grinned, puzzled, and returned to Bryce's side.

In reality, only three seconds had passed. She was still contemplating the system breach. Barry told her his findings, but even Bryce couldn't make sense of it immediately.

Alfred caught up, coming down the stairs, and pressed a few buttons on the system, switching it to the news channel.

"Miss Bryce, I think you should see this. I couldn't reach the police station, but I saw this on TV."

The television was replaying footage of Deathstroke. The terrified TV station executives had replaced all the evening news with this special, despite the city-wide blackout. As long as one person could still watch TV, they dared not cut this broadcast.

What followed was the scene where Deathstroke shot Barbara.

As the gunshot echoed through the Batcave, both the old butler and Barry flinched, involuntarily closing their eyes.

"This makes no sense. Deathstroke would have no reason to kill Oracle."

Barry shook his head repeatedly, refusing to believe it. Oracle was worth more than any ordinary superhero. Deathstroke wouldn't just kill Barbara. If this were the main world, that shot would've cost billions.

"Mr. Allen, we're talking about Deathstroke, a mercenary who kills for money. She doesn't care who she kills." Alfred corrected him. He had once served the government as a soldier with faith, and mercenaries like Deathstroke were, in his eyes, reckless and unprincipled.

A soldier needed principles, while a businessman cared only about profit.

Bryce leaned over the console, using the supercomputer to slow down the footage by twenty times. She didn't grieve for Barbara but instead focused on the bullet.

"Barry is right. Deathstroke didn't kill Barbara. That bullet was shot in a way to create the illusion; it actually passed a centimeter behind her neck."

"Then she brought Barbara here and had her hack your system. The wheelchair tracks here match the spacing and tire circumference of Barbara's wheelchair shown on TV." Barry nodded, wiping the black handprint left by Slade on the console and glancing at the ground around them. "I'm not surprised she could crack your system."

Bryce still pinched her sharp chin, quietly watching the playback on the big screen. The computer automatically replayed the news, and she noticed something odd.

"There's something unexpected, though. The person wearing the Icon uniform isn't actually our Deathstroke."

Saying this, she pressed a button, freezing the screen on a close-up of Deathstroke's face, the crimson eye staring at the three of them. The room fell silent.