Several black and yellow speckled balls were thrown out of the room, flying toward the crowd. They looked about the size of a golf ball, each with a button that emitted a green glow, currently flickering with a faint light.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
A series of explosions echoed, and the gunfire in the corridor suddenly thinned out, replaced by screams. Many of those dressed in black suits clutched their eyes and began to roll on the floor.
The powerful flashbangs, besides causing blindness, also disrupted the brain by damaging the optic nerve, making people lose their balance and sense of direction, unable to move. Concussion grenades could achieve a similar effect, but through sudden loud noises and high-frequency sound waves, in such a narrow underground environment, they were indifferent to friend or foe.
Choosing the right weapon is as important as choosing tactics.
Upon realizing they had lost their combat abilities, Su Ming and Cindy wouldn't hold back. For Deathstroke, obstacles had to be removed. He immediately drew his dual blades and charged swiftly into the crowd, Cindy doing the same.
In the pale corridor, four trails of blade light gleamed dazzlingly.
With each flash of light, one or more heads flew into the air, various severed limbs danced everywhere, and blood splattered every inch of wall and floor.
Their fighting styles were slightly different because Cindy, being smaller, preferred weaving through the crowd to find weaknesses and opportunities.
Su Ming, however, leaned more towards a crushing style of combat, relying on the extraordinary strength of a modified person, cutting through any barriers with his dual blades.
Actually, they could both fight using each other's styles; all techniques were at their disposal, but there were issues of different worlds, different habits, not to mention Su Ming being a Transmigrator.
This straightforward method of advance made his blood boil, fulfilling his lust for deathblow.
He felt much warmer, as if a large amount of unfamiliar memory was flooding into his mind. He vaguely recalled countless times of slaying enemies, even remembering vividly the expressions on their faces.
Those were Slade's memories, completely different from Su Ming's, filled with violence and blood.
When he felt cold once more, only he and Cindy were left in the corridor, surrounded by various mutilated corpses, discarded firearms everywhere, even the barrel of the anti-tank cannon was broken.
"Good, we're getting closer to Falcone." Cindy flicked the blood off her blade, nodded in satisfaction. She liked using swords, the lethality was reliable, no need to check the bodies on the ground.
"Phew... maybe I do need to eat well and sleep somewhere." Su Ming shook his head, calming himself down again. Maybe Cindy was right, with the Healing Factor at work, his mood was affected.
And as Slade's memories kept resurfacing, he became less sure of his identity now. Who was he really?
He had Deathstroke's body and memories, so naturally, he was Slade Wilson, but where did Su Ming's memories come from?
The chaos of memories intertwined with bloodlust made him irritable, though thankfully he could still control his emotions for now. From the comics, this kind of bloodthirsty madness wouldn't last long, likely by morning, things would be back to normal.
Provided he gets enough food and rest, and Cindy's previous stew, he only ate a few bites. Everyone ate the turkey, originally it tasted good, but it had this refrigerator smell.
But it seemed it wasn't just the Healing Factor at play; memories were indeed chaotic.
Cindy patted his shoulder, gesturing for the three hiding in the back room to follow. It was a bit difficult for Barbara with all the corpses in the corridor; her wheelchair wasn't very maneuverable. She was thinking if she needed to go to such places often, maybe it's time to switch to caterpillar tracks.
"Your self-healing cells acting up again?" Cindy asked him.
"It's okay, still under control." Su Ming sheathed his blade, patting his head, searching through the pile of corpses for usable bullets for his pistol.
"As long as you don't get hurt. If you get hurt again, the self-healing cells speed up, and you could lose control." Cindy knew how her body worked, and if Su was like her, he faced the same issue: "Once we've dealt with Falcone, we can 'borrow' some equipment at a hospital, a few good doctors in Gotham can check out your brain CT."
As she spoke, she performed a similar action to Su Ming, running low on ammunition after fighting zombies.
"No need, not the right time yet."
Su Ming declined her suggestion; even after resolving the Romans' matters, they were only halfway through, far from having the time for a physical checkup. Besides, those doctors in Gotham related to Cindy, who could they be?
He didn't want to be treated by Professor Hugo or Dr. Pig Face, avoiding missing or adding organs to his body.
"Suit yourself, but don't give me trouble in combat." Cindy shrugged, since Su Ming insisted, no need to persuade further.
"Don't joke around, these gangs are hardly trouble for us."
He straightened up and continued forward with Cindy, the blood in the corridor was ankle-deep, while the three behind, apart from Vico's excitement, Barbara and Pete were pale and gagging.
Before, on the upper floors, they were dealing with monsters, which was easier; seeing so many human corpses now, human instincts stirred fear.
The corridor wound left and right, no one knew which direction it led, but he could feel the resistance from the Men in Black getting fiercer, indicating they were approaching their target.
With each step forward and kill made, more memories returned. He remembered dozens of bank accounts and passwords from unknown worlds, secret safe houses and arms caches worldwide, and his recent assassination missions, causing his head to throb, yet his expression remained unchanged beneath the helmet, silently following Cindy.
On their way, they found a small room with a light on, showing signs that someone had slept there with silk sheets.
A bottle of medicine was on the bedside, with James Gordon's name written on it.
"Hmm... Falcone even brought your father's painkillers." Su Ming picked up the bottle, tossed it to Barbara: "I must say, he's rather considerate, Gordon should be safe now."
Barbara caught the medicine, examining it closely. She remembered this bottle was in the medicine box at her home, familiar with the doctor's prescription and handwriting.
"How did these guys sneak into my home? My dad installed a lot of security systems." Barbara was troubled, these villains were relentless.
"Gordon can catch thieves for a thousand days, but can't guard against them forever. When someone is determined to enter your home, no security system will work. How equipped do you think your home is compared to the Bat Cave?" Su Ming removed his gloves, felt the sheets, finding no warmth, Gordon had been gone for at least half an hour.
Briss's security measures were formidable, yet Cindy still managed to break in?
Cindy also inspected the medicine bottle, even tasting a couple pills, confirming they were indeed aspirin, then said: "Bypassing security systems is easy, for instance, coercing the manufacturer, for these things often have a deactivation password or frequency."
"Or hiring professionals like us, making all security systems meaningless in our eyes." Su Ming took back the bottle, swallowing a few pills, relieved his headache significantly, causing him to exhale in delight.
Leaving the small room, he nonchalantly grabbed the pillow from the bed as he spoke.
If someone prepared painkillers for Gordon, it implied he wasn't totally unscathed; a pillow during a headache was helpful, and the silk material could be torn for use as a bandage or splint.
Even if Gordon didn't need it, it could be for the Romans.
Killing and humanity aren't mutually exclusive; perhaps after killing Falcone, laying his cold corpse on the pillow, it might bring a smile.
Although the headache eased now, the complex memories left him so irritable he only wanted to kill.