"This town is always full of mysteries."
Bruce, examining files, held several photos, his expression serious.
One photo clearly showed an exaggerated claw mark on the abdomen of a Wayne Enterprises employee.
Alfred, standing tall and composed, inquired, "So, are you planning to don the armor and head to the town again?"
Although the old man's voice was calm, his trembling little finger betrayed his turbulent emotions. He worried that his young master would suffer another broken back.
"No, Alfred, perhaps I can't go this time," Bruce shook his head, his eyes lowered. "Gotham City has seen an increase in homicides recently, and the perpetrators always leave cryptic clues at the crime scenes."
"To prevent more people from getting hurt, I must stop him."
"Then, what about Smallville?"
Bruce thought for a moment, his fingers lightly tapping the table. "We have money, Alfred, and money can accomplish a lot. That includes hiring people to do things for you."
Neither Batman nor Bruce were inflexible. If money could solve a problem, Bruce would immediately deploy his financial resources.
Rubbing his stubble, Bruce opened his computer and used the mouse to log into a mysterious website.
After posting a bounty of five hundred thousand dollars, Bruce smiled faintly. "Now, we just wait."
"Rat-tat-tat～"
Bullets whizzed, and fire crisscrossed.
Inside an abandoned factory filled with the smell of smoke and gunpowder, several men with white cloths wrapped around their heads pulled the triggers, continuously firing bullets at a steel plate not far away.
The bullets hit the steel, spraying sparks and occasionally leaving visible, shallow craters.
The bullets struck the steel plating, producing a "ping ping ping" sound.
"Whoosh!"
Within the dense line of fire, two smoke grenades landed, immediately spewing out thick white fog.
Following that, an orange-clad figure leaped out from behind cover, wielding two submachine guns. He rolled across the wasteland while simultaneously pulling the triggers.
"Tat-tat-tat～"
Unlike the guys with the white headbands, the lone figure's marksmanship was far superior.
Every bullet hit the limbs and torsos of each person with precision.
Brain matter splattered as bullets pierced foreheads, and blood gushed out, accompanied by the sound of bodies hitting the ground.
"One, two, three."
The lone figure listened intently, counting the sounds of bodies hitting the ground.
"Eleven."
The single eye beneath the orange and black mask narrowed slightly.
"Two hundred thousand dollars earned."
The mercenary shoved the two submachine guns into the holsters on either side of his thighs.
He sighed slightly, then wearily reached up to remove the mask from his face. Beneath the mask was the face of a middle-aged man, etched with the lines of a hard life.
A thick, unshaven beard, graying hair, and a chilling gaze.
A burly physique, standing nearly two meters tall, encased in orange, textured armor.
Two sharp, elongated katana blades on his back confirmed he was not someone to be trifled with.
The man's name was Slade Wilson, codename Deathstroke, an evergreen figure in the mercenary world, the world's strongest mercenary.
His firearms and combat skills were top-tier, and he had participated in certain special military experiments in his youth, granting him Super Healing and 90% Brain Capacity, terrifying abilities.
"Good job, the payment has been transferred."
Not far away, Slade's assistant, Wintergreen, approached with a smile. After offering his friend a cigar, Wintergreen asked with a laugh, "What's next? Head to an island somewhere for a vacation?"
"Rest?" Slade shook his head in refusal. "Wintergreen, I don't have time to rest."
"Find me another contract. I'll definitely rest after the next one."
"I knew you'd say that." Wintergreen shrugged, handing a stack of files to Deathstroke. "These are some decent contracts I found on the assassin websites, with good pay."
Slade flipped through the files, considering the difficulty of the tasks and whether the rewards were proportional.
Mercenaries weren't idiots; they wouldn't accept missions that were too difficult for little gain.
Slade quickly scanned through many of the files.
But most of them didn't satisfy him; they involved assassinating certain politicians or eliminating the client's business rivals.
Until, after his rough fingers opened another file.
"Capture a Giant Beast located at Wayne Enterprises' Smallville branch?"
"Fifty thousand dollars?"
Slade frowned.
He certainly didn't think this mission would be so simple, but Deathstroke was curious about what this so-called Giant Beast was. Everyone had curiosity, it just varied in degree.
"Wintergreen, what do you think?"
"Me?" His assistant, Wintergreen, clicked his tongue. "I remember the name of this town. Someone once hired us to search for a gem in this town."
"Combined with this mission, perhaps this town isn't as simple as it seems."
"Isn't that more interesting?" Slade picked up the mask in his hand and put it on.
The mask covered his blind eye, and the remaining eye flashed with a fierce light: "We'll take this mission."
The sun set.
Beneath the dense forest, damp maple leaves carpeted the ground, painting the landscape in shades of yellow and gold.
"Caw, caw!"
Several ravens cawed, their claws scrabbling on the fallen leaves as they fixed their beady eyes on a "giant" not far away.
"Caw?"
One raven flapped its wings, slowly tilting its head as its sharp beak pecked at the "giant's" forehead.
"Ugh!"
The giant's previously still form shuddered.
The flock of ravens scattered, taking flight in alarm.
Clark slowly opened his eyes, the eerie cries of Raven echoing in his ears.
His head felt slightly dizzy, like he was suffering the after-effects of a hangover.
"What happened?" Clark rubbed his temples and slowly stood up.
He looked around, struggling to recall the memories from just a moment ago, and his expression gradually became strange: "I... I seem to have fainted?"
He didn't have time to consider why he had suddenly fainted, and Clark staggered towards the Spaceship.
He needed to take the aircraft back to find Kino and save his adoptive mother's life.
However, the Spaceship was incredibly heavy, as if he was holding a mountain. The Spaceship, which he could usually lift easily, was now completely impossible for Clark to budge.
"What's going on?"
The Superman strength he had always been proud of seemed to have vanished.
Clark frowned, his legs spread apart, hands gripping the edge of the spaceship, his arms straining so hard that his fingers turned white.
But, even using all his might, Clark found he couldn't move the spaceship.
"Could I have..."
Clark's face gradually paled. He looked down at his pale arms, a ridiculous thought surfacing in his mind: "Lost my abilities!?"
-----------------------
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(End of Chapter)