Chapter 8: Chapter 7: The Mercenary
I know that it's human nature to gather in herds. Some get into sports, some into reading, and some just do nothing. An ordinary outcast of society, not interested in anything, living life as it comes. It's so simple: not thinking about anything, not doing anything, wasting the precious time of your life on useless things. Towards the end, you start to think about the true meaning and value of life, realizing that it's about the people who are dear to you. Why did I start thinking about this now? Probably because I've always tried not to think about my past life. I considered it a weakness, knowing that I couldn't and... wouldn't go back. Not after everything I've done and not with this body. It wasn't tearing me apart with guilt or self-hatred. I simply wanted to briefly indulge in my memories of those times when I ran carefree with friends on the streets and lived only for today. I had no idea how cruel and terrifying people could be, given a simple idea and promises of a better world.
I had to admit to myself that I couldn't do it alone. At least not right now. I needed, as they say in my neighborhood... what was it again? A "crew"! Yeah, that's it. Not necessarily people you can call friends, not necessarily good or bad guys – just people interested in having me on their side rather than as their enemy. We would use each other by mutual agreement.
I couldn't keep running from Amanda Waller forever. These cat-and-mouse games would eventually wear me down, and I might just snap, doing exactly what Waller wanted: making me the world's number one enemy. Right now, I was in the western district of New York, and in a dark alley, I decided to deal with an inquisitive rat that had finally noticed me.
"...You can't run forever. Don't you think so, my dear spy #2? How's your surveillance going? Did you find out anything about me that I don't know?" I applied some pressure with my boot on his chest, and the determination with which he remained silent assured me that they had sent a professional this time.
"...You can't just get away from us like that," he said with a heavy sigh, and I reached into my inner pocket, pulled out a TT pistol, cocked the hammer, and... "Waller will surely..." A gunshot to the forehead interrupted his pompous monologue.
"Oh dear, how many pawns do you need to lose before you finally realize that you can't just put me under surveillance? I'll give her a second warning."
I needed to change my location. Soon, their agents would quickly notice the disappearance of one of their own. Plus, the gunshot wouldn't go unnoticed. I went into stealth mode and pondered how to contact the mercenaries' organization. Yes, I could call, use some grandiose name, and request a meeting, but that's not how smart people usually operate. Otherwise, any idiot could approach them for special work. To start with, they needed some basic idea of who I was and what I represented. On one hand, no one could dig up dirt on me and use it to blackmail me. On the other hand, few would want to risk dealing with "Nameless-Guy-With-Green-Hair." Well, maybe only the exceptionally self-assured individuals. A phone would come in handy right now. Hmmm... and there's a young guy heading in my direction, as if responding to my request.
A few seconds and one stolen phone later.
"Was all the youth in 2002 so poor?" I dialed the number of interest.
"Yeah?" came a bored male voice.
"I'm interested in some work."
"Name and connections?"
"Alex T. Keeper. Left two mercenaries, known as Fang and Shooter, alive on June 3rd. Fang gave me your number."
"Hmph... do you see a cafe nearby called 'Tsunami'?" I looked around and was surprised to find the mentioned cafe nearby. Had they really managed to locate me so quickly through the phone? It seemed so.
"Yes, I see it."
"Sit there for about ten minutes. Our agent will approach you. If you pass his check, consider yourself with us. His greeting will be, 'Nice weather today, isn't it?' You should respond, 'Weather's weather. It was the same yesterday.' If you respond differently, you'll lose your chance to prove your worth."
Serious conditions they have indeed. I thought it would be simpler. They inform you about their meeting... oh, but then any double agent could come to their lair. I tossed the phone into a trash can just in case.
I entered the café, ordered coffee with dessert, and began to wait. It didn't even take five minutes for some guy in shorts and a sports t-shirt wearing dark rectangular sunglasses to sit down at my table. He had chestnut hair slicked back, and notably, there was an impressive scar on his cheek, near the jaw. Not suspicious at all!
"Nice weather today, isn't it? Perfect for jogging," he said.
"Weather's weather. It was the same yesterday," I replied.
"Hmph, hard not to notice you. But it's strange: I was warned the meeting would be with a boy, not a guy. Well, that's not my concern. You don't need to know my name. The incident on July 3rd has piqued Amanda Waller's interest. She's looking for you. However, she still doesn't have the authority to act openly. That's because her superiors don't focus on you. They have more important matters to attend to than catching a kid."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"To make the right first impression. It's the first impression that shapes one's view of a person and an organization as a whole. Right now, I've given you a small but very important piece of information. In return, we expect your trust to pay off. Amanda Waller is quite a thorn in the side, but if you're under the protection of some influential organization, it won't be in her or her organization's interest to have such powerful enemies..."
"And by 'influential organization,' you mean yourselves?"
"Well, of course! No, I'm not insisting that you make such a complex and responsible decision right here and now. However, I should warn you: if you give your refusal here and now, you can forget about any contact with us."
"What if I decide to kill you?" I smiled pleasantly, sipping my coffee.
"And what will you achieve by that? You'll only ensure yet another influential enemy is after your head. How long can you keep living, constantly thinking that someone is trying to kill you? If you become a perpetual paranoid, always expecting the next stab in the back, you might go insane."
"I could try to kill everyone."
"I like how you choose your words. 'Try.' If the information about you is accurate, you could indeed kill me. Kill a great number of people who might come after you. But your problem won't be solved. Have you ever heard of the mythical creature called the 'Hydra'? In Greek mythology, a hero cut off its head, and in its place, several new ones grew. That's your situation. Destroying us will only breed more enemies for you. People will fear you for the power you possess. Any power requires control."
"Let's say I join your little... club. What exactly do you represent?"
"We don't have an official name. We're just wherever we're needed. We provide protection, eliminate threats, carry out sabotage. In general, we do all the dirty work that these so-called 'heroes' would never agree to do."
"You don't seem to love them all that much, from what I can see. Childhood trauma?" I smirked.
"I don't hate them at all. Their naivety just irritates me. Sometimes, following their 'Don't Kill' code, they ignore the fact that their games and confrontations have rather unpleasant consequences. 'Acceptable losses,' 'collateral damage' — these words are as common as they come in a war. Ordinary people must simply accept it as a fact. After all, it all happened because of the Villain, and we, the Heroes, did everything we could. I think you understand my point of view."
"Quite. And, to my surprise, I share it."
"So, you agree?"
"Yes, I agree. Will I have a test or an exam? Are there any important rules I should know about? And most importantly, what kind of protection will you provide me against Waller?"
"Your abilities have been proven, so there won't be any important tests. We don't have strict rules per se. There are conventions: you're given a task based on your abilities, reputation, and achievements. You have the right to refuse a given job for certain reasons. However, if you refuse too often, your reputation will suffer. The more it drops, the less likely someone will want to give you a job. And if it drops too low, we won't have any use for such a mercenary. As for 'protection,' consider that you've received it. We see you as a promising figure, so we're offering you a decent starting 'bonus.' This matter will be resolved within our organization."
"So easily?"
"Yes, just like that," he nonchalantly waved his hand. "We expected your call after Fang gave you the number and relayed the information to us. Based on his report, we considered it at least wasteful not to have someone like you on our side."
Profession Acquired: "Mercenary"!
Reputation [???] with the Organization: +100 (Interest)
Main storyline initiated!!!
Neither Yours nor Others
Earn a certain amount of reputation to find out the name of the organization and who runs it!
Reward: 30 world reputation points. Your overall reputation among Villains will always hover between neutral and positive values. Negative attitudes can only be earned through negative actions towards specific individuals. Your overall reputation among Heroes is neutral or negative. Not many members of the Justice League will be thrilled to see yet another mercenary who doesn't shy away from doing dirty work. However, there will be those who wouldn't mind looking the other way when the situation requires it. After all, everyone has their own notions of Justice.
"Then what's my first assignment?"
"...Not here. I'm just a negotiator who happens to be in the right place at the right time," and without any further words, he simply took a smartphone and a bank card out of his pockets and placed them right in front of me on the table. "Try not to lose the phone. As for the bank card, it's for transferring rewards for completed tasks. I have to go. Perhaps we'll meet again, Snake."
Snake...? Is that because I conducted the entire dialogue in an impenetrable mask? It seems so. Oh well. I didn't have a chance to pick up the phone as it immediately started ringing, and my interlocutor had successfully retreated by then.
"In New York, a drug trafficking gang has been discovered. Elimination is required. The location will be marked in your phone. Reward: $10,000. If you complete it without unnecessary noise, your reward will be increased by half."
"Understood."
In principle, I didn't even need to wait until night because my time-stopping ability did all the work for me. Using my touch-screen phone, which was quite user-friendly, I learned that the target was five kilometers from my location.
Without going into boring details, before entering the basement level of the building where the drug traffickers were located, I stopped time and, with enhanced speed, killed everyone inside. There was no unnecessary noise afterwards. Just me, my bloodied dagger, and a clear conscience. In such moments, I felt somewhat melancholic. There was no excitement or that unstoppable feeling of battling a formidable opponent. It was so much better to encounter someone interesting. To play with them and... the worst part was that I hadn't met any normal girls during this time. Those with whom you could chat about life, romance, and other nonsense, and perhaps even relieve stress with some ordinary sex. Well, that was a different matter, and I was still inexperienced in that department. One thing I knew for sure: there could be no talk of love here. There was sympathy, interest, and lust for an image. Love at first sight was nothing more than the final stage. I wouldn't let this feeling manipulate me. Maybe I was wrong, but I couldn't open up to someone so completely just because I felt something close to love for them. To begin with, understand who you're dealing with, and only then draw the conclusion of whether you should invest your time in this person.
I seemed to have gone on a philosophical tangent. It's time to report on the results of my mission. In my notebook, there was only a number labeled "Work" with a hidden description of the number.
"It's done. Your agents can verify it."
"We'll check."
"Are there any more assignments?"
"There are always more. This time, the task will be more complicated. You need to..."
***
Bruce Wayne, also known as Batman, was in his Batcave searching for data regarding two individuals of interest to him. The first was the young man who had some connection with the Joker. The boy knew too much for an ordinary person, and his unexpected attack... he still couldn't understand what had happened. Usually, when an opponent was fast, they left some hint of their presence, but in this case, everything had happened as if in an instant.
"Too fast, even for the Flash, and no signs of teleportation," he silently thought to himself while reviewing the same surveillance video recording tens or even hundreds of times. There he stood in front of him, and in the next second, he was out on the street. Slowing down the camera several times didn't reveal anything either.
"It's as if... at that very moment, no one was capable of realizing anything. Magic? No. I've seen how Zatanna uses magic: it requires either activation words, transformation circles, or something else to create such distortions. I would undoubtedly have noticed something strange on the camera or in what he was saying. Maybe it's... just his ability – time manipulation? Then that would explain everything."
On one hand, he didn't want this young man to become a self-appointed vigilante in his city. On the other hand, if he didn't let him do it here, what would stop him from doing it somewhere else? Although his arguments and threats didn't leave him with any other option but to release him. To stop him, he would need to create a weapon or device that would prevent him from using his ability. Without it, this boy was not as dangerous, and he could be neutralized in close combat. At least, that's what he thought.
Batman's impressive analysis provided him with an answer to the question that concerned him. If what he had said was true, searching for him based on appearance in the database would be pointless. People like him had nothing to trace, being born in a laboratory somewhere. Perhaps due to terrible living conditions, hatred, and resentment, he had chosen this wrong path...?
Despite Batman's dislike and even hatred for killers, he always believed that they could redeem themselves. Therefore, he would always give them a chance and never resort to killing anyone, not even the Joker. The only exceptions in his list were beings that didn't fall under the category of "sentient." Monsters – Not Humans. There were also beings on the "God" level that fell into this category, such as Superman, whose identity had long ceased to be a secret for him. He had promised himself that if one kryptonite stone was not enough to stop him or similar beings, he would be ready to use any means to halt this terrifying threat. He, more than anyone else, saw and knew that his strength far exceeded that of an ordinary human. Superman was like a God to him, who had chosen to play the hero in the guise of a human, and for that reason, he would never fully trust him. In one of the Metropolis interviews, Superman had admitted that he was the last of his kind, but was that really the case...? No one except him could confirm those words.
"John... Doe..." he pronounced the haunting name aloud and opened the biography of a slightly thin and melancholic man in the passport photo. His photographic memory, like blinding flashes of photographs, found a near 100% resemblance between this man and him, much to his surprise.
In the database, there was only one person with that name, and all he found about him was a rather short biography of a man who disappeared without a trace about three years ago. Exactly three years ago, he first encountered the Joker. He had a family and a somewhat unstable job as a comedian in a club. The only clue in his biography was that his disappearance coincided with the date of his wife's death.
"Could this be the reason for his madness...?" he voiced his thought aloud once again. However, obtaining information from John Doe's neighbors was impossible because three years ago, on that fateful day, the house was burned down with all its occupants inside. Therefore, the only course of action he deemed appropriate was to simply talk to the Joker. One on one. To awaken John Doe within him so that they could find a way out of this together...!
For a long time now, he had not felt so excited and anxious. He was growing tired of this insane game in which the Joker constantly toyed with human lives. Even though he defeated him, Batman always ended up on the losing side due to the never-ending stream of victims in their abnormal game.
Nightfall. The cameras at Arkham Asylum were shielded by impenetrable glass. The guards and medical staff of the complex let him through with a mixture of fear and respect. They didn't speak but silently accompanied him. He silently stopped outside the Joker's cell. The Joker was dressed in a standard white patient's suit and lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. His smile widened even more when he turned to face his guest. Jumping off the bed, he grabbed a foldable chair standing nearby and placed it opposite him. He even, like a gentleman, tossed a second chair to him for a pleasant conversation between them, as if they weren't enemies but friends who had come to chat.
"Leave us," he said. While it sounded like a request, the cold tone accompanying it was an order, and they had no choice but to close the door behind them and leave them alone. Seated at the table, Bruce waited for the right moment to begin. The silence was killing the Joker, so he took out his deck of cards.
"Batsey! Long time no see! Did you miss me so much that you decided to pay a visit? Let's play some cards!"
"We will play," Batman replied. The Joker raised an eyebrow in surprise. He didn't expect his "friend" to agree so readily.
"You seem gloomier than usual today, little Batsey. What happened? Something on your mind?" The cards were laid out, and the game began.
"Yes. You happened."
"Oh, Batsey. Sorry, but you're not the type of person I'm interested in on that level. I'm not ready for that kind of relationship yet," he interrupted, emphasizing his words and giving them an inappropriate context.
"I want to stop this... game."
"Sorry, but it's just getting started," he pointed at the cards and chuckled softly. The Joker understood what he meant. He was either mocking him or telling him the plain truth.
"I want to find someone who can help you."
"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! Here you go again! Aren't you tired of this nonsense? It's hopeless. No doctor can help me. Not even one experienced, naive psychologist could help and, what's more, became my toy. You know how to help me. How to stop me. But you stubbornly refuse to do it. One bullet – one body, and future hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of people would thank you."
"If I do it, there's no turning back."
"That's exactly it! I would win, and I'd prove to you that the world you dream of is impossible to create. I can try."
"Ah-ha-ha! Of course, you can! No one is stopping you from dreaming! I, for instance, wish to bring real Chaos to Earth, and only our little game holds me back from that. Reality is a stage, and we are the foolish characters of a dramatic play. You. Me. Completing each other! How many opportunities do you think I had to kill you? Dozens, hundreds? I lost count."
"We can talk about our worldviews all day, but it will all come down to the fact that neither of us will veer from our paths. However, I still want to try because I know that at some point, you were a good person, John... Doe."
The Joker instantly lost his smile. His insane expression turned into one of realization. His hand, holding the cards, jerked to the side, sending them flying, and he pushed the folding table towards the wall in one swift motion. His face contorted with anger and hatred, a visage that could frighten anyone who saw it. But Bruce remained calm. He merely stood up, seemingly satisfied, and calmly took the punch to his jaw. He didn't respond for two reasons. First, this was a conversation, not their usual game, and losing one's temper would signify defeat. Those were the rules. And now, the Joker had lost.
"Who...?! How did you find out...?! Tell me his name!"
"That doesn't matter."
"Oh-ho-ho! No-no-no, Batty! It matters a great deal!" He emphasized Bruce's real name, which didn't surprise him either. "I must personally kill him! He violated the most important rule of my game! No one ever talks about a dead man!"
"He's not dead. I know that deep inside you, he exists, and I want him to come out. To be able to atone for your sins, Joker."
The grimace of anger and hatred was replaced by a sad smile, and he covered his face with his palm. He chuckled falsely, retreating deeper into his cell, and turned his back to Bruce, as if afraid that he could read something on his face.
"All right, since we've started talking about my past, here's a little sad story for you," his voice changed, becoming more serious, as if spoken by a completely different person. "Once upon a time, there lived a little man named John Doe, who wished for only one thing – a good life for his wife and their unborn child. Every day was torture for him. The city seemed to kick him around like a ball. And then, one day, his wife died in childbirth, along with their child. They meant everything to him. And just before that news, he was forcibly recruited into a dangerous, stupid scheme... with that foolish Red Hood."
The puzzle of the incident from three years ago finally clicked into place, and he remembered the poor soul who accidentally fell into the chemical vat.
"That's when he realized that his entire life was just a joke, and reality was the proof of it. John Doe died, and the Joker was born. I embraced reality, while you deny it. That's why I thought we were a perfect match," he said, with a short pause between them. "Tell me, Bruce, you had a really bad day, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I was helped and saved. I was shown a way. Let me help you. We don't need to continue this game."
"Sorry, but for me... it's too late."
"It's never too late."
"...Words of a true hero, hehehe. I've seen what you haven't seen, and I know what you don't know, so all of this is still pointless. Even after all this time, you're still trying to save me. It really sounds like a silly joke," the Joker chuckled and turned towards Bruce with the same insane smile on his face.
"Is something wrong, Bats? We were just playing, and you didn't like it."
"He... doesn't remember?"
"I remember that you flipped the table out of nowhere and shouted that you were tired of my games. It's quite impolite, you know!"
"He just replaced his memories with completely different ones," he calmly admitted this fact and, tapping on the glass, got the attention of the guards. Bruce had made his decision to leave this place.
He had learned everything he needed to know, and now he thirsted to find a way to replace the Joker with John Doe once and for all. This scene proved that the man lived within him, but he refused to accept himself, not only because he realized his sins but also because he had witnessed something... inexplicable. Something that drove a person insane and didn't allow them to return.
"I've seen what you haven't seen, and I know what you don't know. What were you talking about, John?" This thought haunted him all the way back to the Batcave.
Meanwhile, Amanda Waller received a direct order from her superiors not to pursue Subject #88 any further.
"But why?!" she exclaimed.
"Influential figures have stepped in to protect him. I strongly recommend that you do not attempt any open actions. Non-compliance will result in termination. Do you understand?"
She listened in shock to one of the organization's leaders and couldn't believe what she was hearing. Moreover, she couldn't afford to leave the organization. Leaving the organization was not an option because no one was ever supposed to know about the organization. If you were fired, it meant that you would either be killed or subjected to memory erasure, and all the recent years of work would become a complete black hole in your mind.
One month later.
In just one month, I had built myself quite a reputation as the most efficient contract killer with the highest success rate. Nobody could even comprehend what or who they had encountered. Most of the assignments involved eliminating some trash: drug dealers who refused to work for higher-ups, people who owed a lot of money and were hiding from their creditors in some hole. In those moments, I would even listen to my victims' pleas without using time-stop, holding them at gunpoint. I searched for a single reason not to do what I was paid for. There was none. These people were always full of fear and could come up with hundreds of reasons why I shouldn't kill them.
"I-I-I've hidden the money in my house! I have a child! I'll sell my kidney to pay off the debt, just give me more time!"
It would have sounded more convincing if it hadn't been for the fact that they could have done all of this much earlier and not waited for my arrival. The fear of imminent death apparently opened up many solutions to their problems for them. However, I didn't want to wait or waste time on these matters.
The echoes of gunshots. Frame by frame, my memories are interrupted as I pull the trigger once again. "Forgive me, it's just business," I always wanted to say that phrase. It sounds satisfying after fulfilling my sacred duty! I'm cleansing the world of useless garbage! The Bat-face would be proud of me now! Although... most likely not.
Realizing that my forte is "cleaning up garbage," I constantly received assignments in this category. Clearly, my superiors liked the fact that I left virtually no traces behind. Just one bullet from the TT pistol or a slash from a dagger.
The worst part is that I haven't found anyone interesting in this month! My organization doesn't provide information on the whereabouts of famous mercenaries. There was a clear reason for that. Bounties are placed on mercenaries as well. In Mother Russia, they offer one hundred million Russian rubles for the head of Defstrouk. I have no idea what he did to piss them off so much. The same situation with Deadshot, who assassinated the president of France, and now the entire government is willing to pay five billion to anyone who captures him alive. And that's just in these countries! That's why the organization values their contribution and tries to provide them with protection from themselves. No, there were mercenaries who tried, based on recent rumors, to hunt them down, but as far as I've heard, none of those hunter groups ever came back.
I even considered finally going to the next dungeon, but I discarded that idea for several reasons. The first and primary one is that if the Minotaur was a representative of a extinct and defeated race on the continent, then what monsters might I encounter in the Outer World?! After all, this key is a direct hint that he was planning to visit them to seek revenge, but as a result, without magical abilities, he had no chance of fulfilling his cherished dream. Whoever they are, the opponents there will be at least twice as strong, or possibly even three times stronger than the Minotaur. At least that's what my instincts are telling me.
The second reason was that I wanted to complete my current assignment to become a more influential figure. Good prospects would open up, and life would become much easier. What prospects, you ask? Someone once said, "Knowledge is Power." So, with the interesting information I've gathered about the local world structure, I'll be able to make moves ahead of time. For example, take Amanda Waller. She's the first figure I'd like to eliminate from my path, so she doesn't continue to interfere. Like a speck in the eye. But killing her won't get me out of her organization's attention. Therefore, it would require wiping out the entire organization entirely, and that's extremely challenging to do alone, without a good informant. Well, I might be able to find an acceptable alternative. We'll see. I don't see her now, anyway.
Today, I was offered a "Special" assignment. They pointed out a location where I had to meet my future client, who would personally explain my upcoming task. I was somewhat intrigued because usually all my previous assignments were the same.
"We've taken into account your desire to get acquainted with some of our influential figures. After completing this task, you'll have a meeting with the Leader. This will be your final step to move to the next level."
Little did he know how ambiguous that sounded to me, given that I live with the system.
As for my current level, people aren't monsters in dungeons, so they didn't give much experience for them, but I still managed to reach level 28. I have a total of 13 skill points and 120 attribute points. Again, I had to make difficult decisions about where to allocate my attributes and skills. Right now, there's not much point in distributing them, but I'll definitely need to do so before the upcoming dungeon. Although... if there's an emergency situation, I can allocate attributes right during the time stop.
I slightly changed my image, replacing my dark suit with a dark cloak with long sleeves and a hood.
In crowded places, I didn't particularly want to draw attention to my green hair, so I often wore various types of headwear. Sometimes it helped, and sometimes it didn't. I enjoyed listening to the hustle and bustle of the city and silently observing it. I mainly hung around in New York City. It's a pretty big and cozy city, although not without its criminal side, and that's what I like about it. Of course, it doesn't mean that I constantly carry out missions there. That would be unwise. For some missions, the organization could provide me with the necessary transportation to change locations. By the way, I should take note: learn how to drive. All of this has already become quite tedious.
The meeting place was some bar called "Broken Hoof" in a poor district of the city. The name could easily convey the appearance of this establishment. The wooden panels of the building's interior were old and had several bullet holes. Nearby, apparently to maintain the image of a local bar, some drunkard was huddled together with a fire hydrant.
"Funny. Couldn't my client choose a more attractive place than this dive?"
Is this some attempt to hide among the local rats? Well, the idea isn't bad, but usually, smart clients hold meetings in a conspicuous place, with plenty of witnesses, during the daytime. Why exactly like this? Well, if you're in a public place and behave normally and naturally, few people will suspect that you're up to something. On the other hand, this doesn't work if there's a hunt or a manhunt for you, and in that case, the meeting place explains my client's situation.
"Caught a 'big fish'? Hmmm."
I wasn't given any information about who my client was or what they looked like. I was simply told that this individual would come to me personally. I entered the bar, and right from the threshold, I smelled the nauseating scent of cigarettes. I never smoked or liked that smell, and now some dimwit was smoking like a chimney at a nearby table. The bar was just a bar, nothing special. However, I immediately spotted my client, and it was wildly funny and simultaneously stupid.
My client turned out to be an unequivocal teenage girl, roughly between 16 and 20 years old, with long ashy hair. She was dressed in some non-standard military-style outfit with numerous pockets. A pistol in a holster hung from her belt, and a military knife in leather sheaths. Two sword hilts were clearly visible behind her back. A black eyepatch covered her left eye, reminiscent of some pirates.
"Stirlitz has never been so close to failure..." A funny excerpt from a famous movie came to my mind. I tried to suppress my laughter, holding it back with my hand. Nonetheless, I managed to compose myself and decided to approach her.
"I assume you're the famous Ghost Snake?"
The nickname stuck when my acquaintance called me a snake, and my completed missions left no traces behind.
"That's right, milady," I said, tipping my hat slightly in a respectful nod. She didn't seem impressed and merely sighed tiredly.
"I need help with something."
"That's why I'm here. But first, can I know your name? It feels a bit awkward that you know me, and I don't know you. You know, all introductions typically start with a name."
"Let's skip the formalities. No need to address me so formally," she grimaced. "I'm not that old to be addressed like that. My name is Rose Wilson, and I want to find my father."
"Interesting," I said, massaging my palms and flashing my trademark smile, realizing that the next mission would be quite interesting. "What exactly do you need from me?"
"Escort and protection. Nothing else should concern you."
"Well, I thought my family had complicated matters," I sarcastically replied, scratching my head.
"None. Questions. Clear?"
"Of course, of course. Just voicing my thoughts."
"Then let's go. I can't afford to waste any more time."
As soon as she said that, a small group of hostile onlookers, locals, stood up from their seats. Some grabbed clubs, others knuckledusters, and the remaining couple wielded billiard cues. Huh, where did this sudden animosity come from?
"We, people like you, can't stand here, and we'd like to teach you a lesson."
"Gentlemen, I'm sure there's a much better way to resolve this situation. We're civilized people after all," I spread my arms and shrugged. "Isn't there...?"
"Without weapons. No unnecessary noise," Rose interrupted.
"The client's wish is law."
I didn't want to draw too much attention to my abilities, considering this whole scene in the bar seemed suspicious and out of place. It was like a performance, but for what or, better to say, for whom? Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the shapely girl and, resting my palm under my chin, pretended to ponder.
"Hmm..." Was she testing me? I slightly shifted to the side, avoiding the trajectory of the attack, performed a light trip, and kicked the back of one's head with my heel. I intercepted the billiard cue of another client, pulling it towards me to strike the second one precisely in the jaw. I couldn't watch Rose closely because client number 3 was approaching me.
The third one tried to reach me with the bat, so, to make them rethink and discourage them, I decided to perform a somewhat flashy and pompous action. I accepted the swing of the bat with my fist, shattering it to splinters. I grabbed the neck of a middle-aged man, lifting him slightly above the floor, and loudly announced:
"While I'm having fun playing with you, we also have business to attend to. If you continue, I'll have to resort to extreme measures."
That sobered them up, and few dared to openly attack us now. I released my hostage and walked out onto the street with Rose.
"Would you really have killed him?" Rose asked.
"Perhaps. People who gather in packs are like animals. So I decided to treat them like animals. The instinct of self-preservation and survival should guide people in tough situations. There are, of course, individuals who simply lack it, but fortunately, they are few. I showed them an example of my strength and, in a way, let them understand their chances of winning."
"An interesting perspective."
Our mode of transportation was a local yellow taxi, which made me somewhat uneasy. Did she steal it?!
"Hahaha!" I laughed heartily at the sight. "You're full of surprises, Rose."
"I had no choice. My target is presumably somewhere in Madagascar. We'll reach our destination within half a day by aircraft."
Playing detective with a young and attractive lady in search of her most dangerous, terrifying, and the best tactician on the planet – Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke. What could be more exciting than that?! I'll have to try to loosen her tongue over time. After all, if she's looking for him, it means her old man left her for some reason. The question is, what will happen when she meets him, and most importantly, what role will I play in all of this? Well, we'll find out soon enough.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone