Chapter 11: Ch.10 Gotham Police Department

Chapter 11: Ch.10 Gotham Police Department

"It looks like someone else had the same idea as us," Su Ming said while furiously pedaling his unicycle, gripping his twin pistols and flicking off the safety.

Cindy mirrored his actions. In an unpredictable combat range, dual pistols were more reliable than the shotgun slung across her back:

"At least we can rule out Harley as a suspect. She and Poison Ivy were both drunk like cats; there's no way they got here before us."

"Figuring out who it is doesn't matter much. We'll just go in and take out whoever's poaching our business."

In Gotham, there were plenty of people who enjoyed playing the game of cat and mouse with the Bat. It was anyone's guess who might be moving right now.

After the battle with the Joker's gang, Su Ming had fully accepted that he *was* Deathstroke, and Deathstroke was him. If this body was a house, Slade was just the previous tenant. The house now belonged to Su Ming, and he intended to write a new legend under his own name.

He would use his mind to drive this body, but keeping the name "Deathstroke" was both a habit and a way of remembering his roots back in the East.

Cindy wasn't privy to Su Ming's internal journey, but she could sense the change in him. The man who once seemed disconnected from this world now seemed to have fully integrated. She was curious but didn't ask questions, merely holstered her pistols, thinking she probably wouldn't need them.

They quickly reached the small park where, with Deathstroke's superior vision, Su Ming could clearly see the front entrance of the police station.

It was an old building, likely constructed around the time Gotham was founded. Though it had undergone countless repairs and expansions, it still reflected the original vision of its designers.

The station was built like a fortress, with thick, sturdy walls. Every window was as small as possible, and the roof had wide open spaces with protective barriers, along with independent water systems and air conditioning units. Of course, most notably, the Bat-Signal rested on the rooftop platform.

A large, slightly weathered GCPD sign hung at the front of the building, still intact despite its age.

At the moment, the police station's parking lot was cluttered with black vans, scattered haphazardly like dark boulders along the coastline in the pouring rain.

A few scattered police bodies lay at the entrance, their blood being washed down the steps by the rain.

By the shattered front doors, several black-suited individuals holding submachine guns were pacing, occasionally glancing inside the station, as if waiting for someone.

"Black suits, black felt hats, white scarves, and classic Chicago-style Tommy guns. Their boss must be a fan of 'The Godfather.'"

The two crouched behind some bushes in the park. The rain obscured their figures, and the disparity in physical abilities allowed Su Ming to see everything while remaining unseen.

Cindy didn't quite understand what Su Ming was talking about. Gotham's gangsters had been dressing like this for decades, so there was no telling who they were based on attire alone.

She glanced at the distance to the station's door and looked up at the sky:

"The weather and time are in our favor. We could either go for a direct assault or sneak in."

"They're likely planning to use Gordon to lure out the Bat. We should launch a direct attack to distract them and prevent them from focusing their full efforts on the station's interior. If they get their hands on Gordon, things could get tricky for us."

After answering Cindy, Su Ming made a swift decision. He raised his guns and charged out of cover, firing as he ran.

His brain granted him an exceptional sense of spatial awareness. Calculating bullet trajectories wasn't just Deadshot's specialty—Deathstroke could do it too. In fact, he could rely entirely on calculations instead of aiming.

The distance—just over a hundred meters—was slightly beyond the effective range of handguns, but Su Ming, now fully embracing his new identity, had no doubts about his abilities. Once his mind and body were in sync, he unlocked the terrifying potential of this body.

In the pitch-black night, under the torrential rain and howling wind, nothing hindered him. Every environmental factor—wind speed, angle, refraction, gravity, energy loss—was instantly calculated in his mind and converted into precise action.

His shots were unerring. The black-suited gunmen positioned on the steps all dropped.

He sprinted forward, water splashing beneath his feet and colliding with the rain falling from above.

By the time the gunmen realized where the attack was coming from, Su Ming had already crossed the street and vaulted over the wall, reaching the police station's parking lot. With a swift pull, he hoisted himself onto one of the black vans.

His speed was far beyond their comprehension. Su Ming could almost see their expressions of disbelief, but he had no intention of savoring the despair he brought.

Standing atop the van, he raised both arms, ignoring the bullets that sparked against his armor. Despite the enemy's return fire, he maintained a deadly accuracy, taking down one opponent after another. In just a few seconds, the area fell silent.

Descending the stairs, they reached a magnetic card door that had already been smashed open, leading to a long, dimly lit corridor. Su Ming and Cindy peeked inside, noting the positions of both groups.

Under the pale glow of fluorescent lights, the black-suited gunmen and the police were engaged in a shootout, darting in and out of offices along the hallway like a violent game of whack-a-mole. Every so often, someone would get hit and drop.

The police were clearly outmatched due to their inferior equipment.

"At the end of the hallway is the communications room. The cops are probably defending it because Gordon's in there, calling for help," Cindy tightened her helmet and flexed her wrists, offering a theory.

Su Ming wasn't convinced. He didn't think Gordon was the type to hide in a room and let others take the bullets for him. But Cindy knew Earth -11 better than he did, so it was hard to say.

"I don't think it's Gordon, but whoever's in there must be important. Let's clear this out and check."

"Kill all the black suits, leave the cops alive?" Cindy pulled out a cigar from the small box at her waist and twirled it in her fingers. "Bet you a cigar it's Gordon in there."

"I'll handle the cops. Deal." Su Ming smiled beneath his mask, pulling out his own cigar and placing it next to hers on the doorframe. "I bet it's not him."

After their brief exchange, Cindy darted into action. Despite both being Deathstroke, as she said, she favored close combat with bladed weapons.

Her katana cut through the air like a whirlwind. By the time the black-suited gunmen realized what was happening, Cindy was already in their midst, wreaking havoc.

There was one who managed to block Cindy's blade with her gun, even trying to rally others to her aid.

But she was just a minor obstacle. This kind of small-time boss existed in droves among Gotham's gangs, and Deathstroke, the world's greatest mercenary, was on a different level entirely.

Cindy slashed down with a resounding *clang*, but before the sound of metal on metal could fade, she whipped out her shotgun and fired.

The clang and the blast overlapped, and the woman was sent flying, a gaping hole in her chest, revealing the shattered wall behind her.

Cindy's slaughter continued. She danced through the bloodshed like a diligent worker bee, but her black-and-yellow armor only inspired terror in the gunmen.

Su Ming's focus was on the police. Armed with an electrified staff, he took down officers one by one. They didn't have Batman's insulated gloves or boots, and their combat skills were nowhere near her level.

So he moved like a stoker in an old ship's boiler room. His staff was the poker. One thrust forward, a flash of electricity, and another cop was down. He'd reel them in, tossing their bodies into offices to keep them from getting caught in crossfire.

In about two minutes, forty or so black suits and a dozen police officers were taken care of.

They finished their work almost simultaneously. Cindy smirked,

"Looks like I'm the stronger one. I took down twice as many as you."

Su Ming didn't argue. He just shrugged. His task had required more finesse. He had to be careful not to go too far and kill the police. They were regular people, after all. The time he spent electrocuting them had to be measured. When throwing them into rooms, he had to be gentle.

Some might say, "It's just a staff, how could you stab someone to death with it?" But with his strength, who said you needed a spearhead to stab someone?

At the same time, he had to suppress his bloodlust, which surged with every burst of adrenaline. It was like a mental tug-of-war between reason and instinct.

Seeing his apparent resignation, Cindy grew even more smug. If she had a tail, it would have been wagging. She wandered around the hallway for a moment before stopping in front of the communications room door.

"Alright, time to open the present. Let's see what's inside."

She began pulling plastic explosives from her leg pouch, humming a cheerful tune, clearly eager.

The door to the communications room was solid, like the armor on a tank.

"Don't use too much, or you might scare them to death," Su Ming reminded her. Given the situation, whoever was inside probably wasn't a combatant. A C4 explosion in a narrow hallway could generate a huge noise and directional shockwave.

They wouldn't die from it, but it could rupture their eardrums or knock them out.

Cindy didn't respond, just gave a thumbs-up, pulled out a small piece of C4, and affixed it to the door lock, setting the timer.