The Death knell

As for what kind of chaos Chicago would descend into after the live broadcast was cut off, Albert wasn't concerned in the slightest. If the chaos managed to attract the Bat, that would be ideal.

He picked up Barbara, placed her in the wheelchair, and pushed her into the van.

"Good acting. You've got the talent to be a news anchor."

Johnson curled his lips in disdain. Acting skills alone didn't make a good anchor. There was a lot of effort involved—makeup, etiquette, knowledge of current events. It wasn't as easy as Albert made it sound.

Barbara shivered from the cold, her rain-soaked clothes clinging to her body. Her pale lips trembled as she spoke.

"If we just do this… will my dad be safe?"

Albert motioned for Johnson and Peter to get in the van. They had been kidnapped, after all. Watching them reluctantly climb inside, Cindy started the engine.

"I'm not sure," Albert admitted. "But using my name as leverage should at least buy your father some time." He rummaged through the van, found a towel, and handed it to Barbara.

"When the kidnappers hear that Deathstroke is involved, they'll hesitate. They'll think twice before making any rash decisions against Commissioner Gordon. That's what we need—time."

Cindy stepped on the accelerator, the van speeding through the rain-soaked streets. Her extraordinary reflexes made it look effortless, and she even had time to chime in on the conversation.

Barbara nodded, her expression filled with gratitude.

"Thank you. You're a good person."

Albert immediately shook his head. "Forget the 'good guy' card. When I rescue Gordon, I'll be sending him the bill."

"Haha, you really don't seem like a killer. You can even joke around."

Barbara let out a small laugh. She finally felt some relief. She was exhausted, but knowing that the world's strongest mercenary was working to save her father gave her confidence.

Johnson sat quietly across from them, watching the interaction in disbelief.

This was insane.

One of the world's most feared assassins was casually chatting with the daughter of Chicago's police commissioner, even pulling off a staged death broadcast.

And now, Deathstroke was on his way to rescue Commissioner Gordon.

"Killing someone to save someone else… it's the most illogical thing I've ever heard. But at the same time, it somehow makes sense."

After wrestling with his thoughts for a while, Johnson finally spoke up, ignoring Peter's warning glance.

Albert turned his gaze toward Johnson. The reporter had been practically invisible throughout the entire ordeal. Maybe the TV station already thought she was dead. But now, she had quickly recovered, and her journalistic instincts had kicked in again. Had she already forgotten her fear?

"Killing one to save another is a balance," Albert said. "I'm just doing what I have to do."

He removed his helmet, the heat and moisture inside making it unbearable. He never thought his uniform would be so uncomfortable in this weather.

Johnson was briefly stunned to see his face, but only for a moment. Then, she jumped right back into her work.

"So, do you think you're a psychopath, Mr. Deathstroke?" she asked. "Have you ever felt that something about you is… abnormal?"

Peter's eyes widened.

That was a loaded question!

Albert was amused. This wasn't the first time he had heard this question—in other worlds, reporters had asked Batman the same thing.

"So, do you think this world is normal?" he countered.

Johnson frowned, deep in thought. She didn't respond.

Peter let out a sigh of relief. Thank God. If he made it out of this alive, he was definitely quitting this job. No amount of money was worth this kind of stress.

Cindy, still focused on driving, was intrigued by Albert's philosophy. She thought it sounded like something out of an ancient proverb.

The van sped through the storm, weaving through alleys and side streets. Along the way, they encountered gangs and thugs preying on the chaos. But as soon as Cindy rolled down the window and flashed a cold glare, they scattered like terrified rats.

Johnson had been observing all of this.

She found herself disappointed.

If Deathstroke had fought them, she could have captured some action shots. Maybe even an exclusive.

"You seem disappointed," Albert noted. "Do you like watching people die?"

"No, of course not," Johnson quickly denied. "I just wanted to film some action scenes. The audience would love it."

"Well," Albert mused, "if we find the gang that kidnapped Gordon, you can film that. Just make sure your friend here doesn't vomit."

Johnson's eyes lit up.

"Great! Pete, you're okay with that… right?"

Under Johnson's intense gaze, the strongman hesitated but reluctantly nodded.

Albert smirked. What an amusing woman.

Johnson, now in full reporter mode, squeezed in between Barbara and Albert.

"Thanks! If that happens, I'll have another scoop!"

"It's mutual benefit," Albert replied. "Mercenaries need publicity too. TV is a good platform for that."

Johnson excitedly pulled a small notebook from her pocket, flipping it open like she was conducting a real interview. Albert was caught off guard.

"I thought you were a TV reporter."

"I am, but I take notes too." She grinned. "So, Mr. Deathstroke, can you clarify your relationship with the other Deathstroke—the one driving? Or is it actually her who's the real one?"

Cindy burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the confusion.

Albert sighed. "I should just kill you all..."

"NO!!!"

"I'm kidding." Albert smirked. "Batgirl likes you, you know. The lunatics in this city are all your fans. Maybe even Jester is reading your reports in Arkham right now."

At the mention of Batgirl, Johnson's eyes sparkled.

"Oh? Really? But why hasn't she contacted me yet? If I give you my address and phone number, could you pass them along to her? I'd love an exclusive interview."

"Who are you talking about? The Bat or the Clown?"

"Either works," Johnson said with a mischievous grin. She licked her lips, looking like an eager journalist ready for her next big break.

Albert shook his head in disbelief.

"You're insane. Are there any normal people in this city?"

The van was filled with laughter—except for Barbara, who wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Just hearing the name "Jester" made her lower back ache all over again.

!