"Nothing much, they just seemed like they wanted a fight, so I gave them an opponent." Gordon shrugged, agreeing with Cindy.
"You gave them a slaughter, not an opponent." Cindy jumped down from the van and walked into the police station. "This mission isn't reimbursed, we have to pay out of pocket. Couldn't you just use a knife?"
"No need to be that precise with the calculations, right?" Gordon also jumped down, picked up a submachine gun from the ground, and checked the ammo drum. "Look, they're using .45 caliber handgun bullets too, one for forty-five rounds, this time it's a profit."
The two chatted idly, as if they hadn't just killed over a dozen people but were bargain hunting during a supermarket sale.
As they continued toward the police station, they suddenly noticed someone alive at the entrance, even though every one of Gordon's shots hit the heart. Maybe this one had their heart on the right side.
Previously, Gordon had heard that one in a thousand people had their heart on the right side, this time he actually encountered one.
"Who sent you guys?"
Gordon kicked away her gun, squatted beside her, and asked in a low voice, the single crimson eye on his mask like a midnite ghost fire.
Even though this gang member hadn't died on the spot, the shot had pierced her left lung, and now she was convulsing in pain.
But when she heard Gordon's question, she actually laughed, coughing up blood as she said fiercely:
"The boss... won't let you go, Deathstroke."
Under the mask, Gordon raised his brow, this person was obviously not thinking straight anymore. Now with everyone here dead, who knows he was even here? This was clearly a perfect assassination.
"Seems like you still have some faith, then your boss should've told you one thing..." Gordon lightning-fast drew the samurai sword from his back, thrusting it reverse-grip into the right chest of the woman on the ground, pinning her firmly there: "Don't! Mess with! Deathstroke!"
After speaking, he withdrew the sword, blood from the heart sprayed from the wound like a fountain, spilling through the gaps in his chain armor and covering him.
The warmth of the blood dispelled some of the chill from the rain, but only for a brief moment before disappearing. He had an impulse to bathe in more blood for warmth, but quickly shook his head as reason told him that was wrong.
Cindy walked over with a mischievous smile, misunderstanding Gordon's head shake, and said:
"See, I told you, a knife is better."
This time, the two were thinking about different things again, Gordon was pondering his bloodlust issue, while Cindy was talking about the greater lethality and reliability of cold weapon wounds.
"Alright, then once inside, you handle it, and after you're done, I'll critique your problem-solving approach?"
Gordon grumpily extended his knife, watching the rain wash away the blood before sheathing it.
Cindy raised her hands in a surrendering gesture: "Fine, I'm not interested in the small fry, just leave me their boss."
It seemed the words that dying person said earlier really annoyed Cindy; no one had ever dared to threaten the world's deadliest assassin like that.
Without saying more to her, Gordon entered the police station first. Here, there was no need to know the layout; just follow the gunfire.
The police station's lobby was in complete disarray, mostly the corpses of officers with only a few Men in Black, indicating this was a surprise attack.
However, unexpectedly, the gunfire wasn't coming from the director's office on the third floor, but from the basement.
"What's in the basement?" Gordon asked Cindy.
"If I remember correctly, it's the morgue, power room, and communications room and such." Cindy looked at the stairs leading upwards, noting no corpses of Men in Black, indicating they hadn't planned to go upstairs, but rather their target was clearly the basement.
"Strange..."
Though Gordon spoke of strangeness, his feet didn't slow, still crossing over bodies and wrecked furniture toward the sounds of combat.
Among the dead in the lobby were not only the police and Men in Black, but also visibly other criminals or homeless individuals.
No matter their status in life, they were all like burlap sacks piled together in death.
Rainwater poured through the broken doors, mingling with the blood and flowing everywhere, rendering the once beautiful wooden floor filthy beyond recognition, as if viewed from above it was a grotesque tapestry of monsters.
Neither of them were particularly artistically inclined, but they easily found the entrance to the basement, where they could smell gunpowder, as if standing on the rim of a volcano.
Down the stairs was a card-based door, now destroyed, leading to a long and deep corridor. Gordon and Cindy peeked inside, taking note of the placement and distance of both parties.
In the harsh fluorescent light, Men in Black and police were exchanging fire, both sides taking cover in offices along the corridor, like a game of whack-a-mole, but people occasionally dropped after being hit.
Due to equipment issues, the police were clearly at a disadvantage now.
"At the end of the corridor is the communications room; the police are holding out there, possibly with Gordon inside calling for help." Cindy adjusted her helmet and flexed her wrists, offering a hypothesis.
Gordon, however, disagreed with this, not seeing Gordon as the type to let his men hold the line while he hid calling for help. But Cindy knew Earth -11 better, so it was hard to say: